Eighteen Again
by Behindthebook08
Summary: Minerva couldn't have possibly foreseen the consequences of protecting one of her young Muggleborn students when she jumped in front of a flying potions vial. Now she's eighteen again and having to face adolescence once more. Uncontrollable emotions, a raging Scottish temper, a Gryffindor sense of adventure, and entirely unwelcome hormones! (Hermione/Minerva)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello All! I've been working on this story for a while, and am a good ways into writing it. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Please review and let me know what you think! More updates soon!**

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Vibrant colors danced before Minerva's eyes as she fought desperately for consciousness. Her arms and legs weighed heavily against the bed, begging her to continue sleeping, to stay still. It was as if she had decided to drink an entire bottle of Skelegrow on a whim. Her body felt as if it was several sizes to small, her bones moving stiffly and painfully, stretching her skin unpleasantly.

Blinking painfully she forced her eyes open, furrowing her eyebrows at the incoming sunlight and the bright color scheme of the Hospital Wing. The hospital wing—she should have guessed as much. Her eyes adjusted painfully as she scanned the room for Poppy. As if hearing her thoughts, the mediwitch suddenly appeared from around the corner, carrying a tray full of colorful potions.

Rounding the corner, she caught Minerva's eye, "Oh, thank goodness you're awake. I had worried this may be more troublesome than planned. Take these potions," she ordered, handing over three different vials, each in a vibrant shade. Drinking the potions quickly, Poppy smiled. "It's so nice when you aren't being argumentative."

Minerva rolled her eyes lightly, and then paused to chuckle for a moment. She had broken her eye-rolling tendencies years ago, where had that urge come from?

"Poppy," she asked carefully, "What exactly happened? Why am I here?"

Poppy sighed softly, her mouth forming a thin line of disapproval, "I'm sorry, Min, but Dumbledore insisted on explaining it to you himself. Rest assured you're entirely alright, there's just a bit of…unusual activity going on."

"Poppy—" she tried again, but the mediwitch firmly shut her mouth and walked away, hands in the air. Minerva frowned, something wasn't right; otherwise she would already have her answers.

She felt the potions take effect, one of them obviously being a pain potion, and sighed happily at the results. While her body still felt unfathomably strange, she was no longer in pain, and the dreadful headache had gone away. She shut her eyes for a moment, enjoying the silence.

Opening her eyes again, she found Albus standing just outside of her curtained off area, "Good Morning, Minerva. I hope that I'm not disturbing your rest, Poppy had sent a patronus to alert me to your waking, and I assumed you would be curious."

Minerva smiled, "Curious, that's a good word for it. What the hell is going on, Albus?" She found herself surprised, and blushing lightly. Much like her habit of rolling her eyes, after years of teaching, she had almost entirely given up on swearing—yet there it was.

"I will explain everything, if you will just give me a moment. Please, Minerva, allow me to tell you everything I know before asking any questions."

Minerva nodded nervously, her eyebrows once again furrowing. Something was _definitely_ not alright.

"Two days ago you were subject to a rather nasty prank—it was apparently aimed at a muggleborn student, but you got in the way," he explained. "Misters Weasely, I've been informed, have recently been working on a new potion which causes a temporary de-aging. They mean to put it in candies, much like their Canary Creams. Unlike other aging and de-aging potions, the one which they are designing will only last for five to ten minutes, thus creating no real danger."

"Albus," Minerva started suspiciously, but he held up a hand to silence her.

"Please, Minerva, let me finish," he said politely, yet firmly. She shut her mouth, glaring at him slightly. "They have not yet perfected their potion though, so they haven't been using human test subjects or selling the products, obviously. Apparently a young Slytherin heard them discussing it while perusing their shelves, and took it upon himself to steal a sample from their store room."

Minerva's eyes widened—a potion like that, untested, could be incredibly dangerous.

"The Slytherin attempted to douse a muggleborn student with the potion, and you stepped in the way. Minerva, you very likely saved the girl's life, you should know that," he informed carefully, "But you were covered with a substantial amount of this potion."

Minerva could no longer hold in her questions, interrupting Albus quickly, "Are you telling me that I have been affected by an untested de-aging potion?"

He nodded uhappily, "Severus, along with both of the Weasely's are working tirelessly to find an antidote—but at the moment, we don't know how long the potion will last. It may wear off after several days, or it could be a permanent change."

Minerva shut her eyes tightly, "Albus, how old am I?" she whispered.

The heavy sigh which he let out would have told her enough, even without the simple answer which followed, "Eighteen years old, Minerva."

Her green eyes shot open, "Eighteen?! Albus, I _cannot_ be eighteen years old again!"

"I know, Minerva, I know. We are doing everything we can to fix this—but in the mean time you have to make do."

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, attempting to calm her temper. There was nothing which could be done at this point in time, so she would simply have to accept it. She was Minerva McGonagall, she could handle anything.

"Alright," she said quietly, "What's the plan then, I'm assuming you have one."

He looked at her closely over his spectacles, scrutinizing whether or not she was truly alright to continue. Apparently finding what he needed, he nodded carefully, "We have found a replacement for your classes for the time being, and a rumor has circulated about your needing to leave the country due to your health, you're supposedly staying with your brother Malcolm. Only two students were witness to your injury, and both are convinced that the results were what caused you to leave the country," Minerva nodded, all of this made sense. "While we search for a cure, you will need to be nearby—for testing, as well as observation. Should your health change in any way, we need to know that."

"Naturally," Minerva confirmed.

"During that time," Albus paused, almost looking nervous, "During that time, I believe it would be best if you played the role of a seventh year student."

"A student, Albus!" she exclaimed, "I can't possibly pretend to be a student; I'm well on the verge of _elderly_."

"I know, Minerva, but I can find no other reason why a woman of your age would be living in the castle—I'm sorry."

Minerva closed her eyes, and attempted to calm her temper again. It wasn't working, but she knew they needed to continue. "Tell me the rest, Albus."

At that point he continued without pause, simply giving her the information she needed. She was appreciative for his straight-forwardness. She couldn't have handled an afternoon of sympathetic glances.

Her name would be Mary Margaret McSweeney, the initials making it easier to remember her new name. She would be a home-taught student, until her parents were killed by death-eaters. Also easy to remember, as her parent's _had_ been killed by death eaters—though that had been twenty years earlier. She would be in Gryffindor, and would be assigned a student to 'show her around' for her first week.

At that, Minerva had snorted unattractively, though she agreed with Albus that any _normal_ new student would require that sort of assistance.

"Take the rest of the day to rest, Minerva. Your body has been through quite a bit of stress recently. Tomorrow is Sunday, take the morning to go gather any supplies you may need from Hogsmeade, and meet me at the doors at 1 p.m. From there I will accompany you to the Gryffindor tower, and introduce you."

"Albus, are we quite sure that it's necessary for me to do all of this pretending? I know that there is some danger, but wouldn't it be much simpler to just alert the students to the mistake and continue on as if nothing has changed?"

Albus sighed unhappily, "Unfortunately, this is a severely dangerous potion—had it been used on the student, she would have died due to her inability to de-age any further. We cannot let others learn of it while it's still in this stage," he explained, "Beyond that, we still don't know all of the effects this potion has had on you, and until we know that you are entirely _stable_ we should be quite wary."

Minerva nodded, "Alright, Albus. I suppose you're right."

The headmaster stood up, grasping her hand lightly, "I really am sorry, Minerva. We'll sort this out as soon as possible."

* * *

The following morning, Minerva had to stop herself from hexing Albus as they stood in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. She could see the laughter in his eyes as he explained the password to her—the password she had set not two weeks before.

"Panthero Leo," he said finally, watching as the portrait swung open. He stepped through first, having to bend to stop his head from hitting the doorway, and she followed just behind.

Entering the common room with Albus was an interesting experience—partially, she was relieved because all attention was focused on the Headmaster. It wasn't every day that he entered a common room, on the other hand—as soon as they noticed the small woman beside him, all attention moved straight to her.

For the first time in many years, she found herself self-consciously staring at her feet, and tugging her skirt nervously. Were the skirts always this short? They couldn't have been—and since when were her legs quite this long?

After years of being primarily attached to the adjective, formidable, she didn't quite know what to do. She was obviously not _formidable_ in her eighteen year old body, and she didn't know what else to be.

"Gryffindors," Albus introduced kindly, "If I may have your attention! I would like to introduce Miss. Mary McSweeney, she is joining us for the remainder of her schooling, and I expect you will welcome her entirely."

The students simply stared at her, some with welcoming smiles, others with unmasked curiosity. A few even had the nerve to look at her with, if she was not entirely mistaken, something akin to lust. This was not going to be fun.

As Albus slowly crossed the room, the students went back to their previous activities—or made an attempt to look like they returned to them. They were rather obviously whispering about their newest student, not that she could blame them. "Miss. Granger," Albus said kindly, causing Minerva to look up quickly. He couldn't possibly—"Miss. Granger, this is Mary, the student I talked to you about yesterday." Yes… yes he could.

"Mary, this is Hermione Granger, she is Head Girl this year, and one of the brightest witches Hogwarts has ever seen. She has agreed to show you around for your first few days."

Hermione blushed scarlet at the introduction, "It's a pleasure, Mary," she said, holding out her hand.

Minerva took it quickly, "Thank you, Miss. Granger. I appreciate your help."

It took Minerva a moment to realize why Hermione looked so confused, and then she started laughing, "Oh Mary, you simply must call me Hermione. Only the professor's call me Miss. Granger."

"I'm sorry, Hermione." Minerva laughed awkwardly, "I don't know what came over me."

Albus clapped his hands joyfully, "Well this seems to be working out wonderfully. If you need anything, Miss. McSweeney, don't hesitate to ask. And thank you again, Miss. Granger."

"Anytime, Professor," she smiled as he made is way out of the common room.

Minerva found herself staring at her feet again, another bad habit she was picking up from her adolescent body. "If it isn't too much trouble," she asked, "Would it be possible for you to show me where I'll be rooming? I would like to get settled in…"

"And escape as well," Hermione said knowingly, glancing around at her staring classmates. "They can be a bit much. Follow me."

Hermione led her up past the 7th year dormitories, and Minerva had to stop herself from asking why—Mary wouldn't know _where_ the 7th year dormitories were, would she? Minerva furrowed her eyebrows when she realized where Hermione was taking her, what on earth was going on?

Hermione opened a door at the very top of the stairs, and beckoned Minerva inside.

"Usually," she explained, "You would be staying a floor below, with all of the seventh years. But it's a very large class this year, and you would be rooming with eight other girls. I thought—I mean, if it's alright with you—I thought that after so many years living at home, that may be a bit of a shock. So I convinced Professor Dumbledore to allow me to split my dormitory, so you would have a bit more privacy. My room is larger than most, being that I'm head girl, so there's plenty of room. It's not perfect, but it's better than living with the eight of them." She said this all very quickly, and Minerva found herself smiling at the nervous antics of Hermione Granger.

She had just willingly given half of her space to a complete stranger, and yet she was still convinced she would be rejected in some way. "Hermione, that's wonderful, but you really don't have to."

Hermione just shrugged, "I get bored living on my own anyways—after living with Lavender and Pavarti for years, I don't remember what quiet is anymore."

Minerva grinned, knowing full well what it must have been like to live with the two Gryffindor gossips. "Not that I'm loud, mind you. I'm just not bothered by noise—if you're noisy, not that I think you will be," she rambled. "Oh bugger, I'm just messing this all up, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Minerva responded finally, "This is far too generous of you, and will certainly make me feel more at home. I was rather dreading the living arrangement here, but this seems far more to my liking."

Hermione beamed at that, happy to have helped. "Well, I'll just leave you be to settle in, shan't I? If you want to meet us downstairs in a little while, you can join my friends and I for dinner. They won't ogle you as much as most."

Minerva nodded, "That would be lovely."

With a small wave, Hermione left the room, and Minerva sunk down on the bed. She glanced around the room, and smiled. Of course Hermione didn't know that _Mary_ had been Head Girl herself, many years ago. And she didn't know how at home Mary would feel in this room—but it did help, it helped so much.

She felt terrible for encroaching on the young witch's space, after so many years fighting, Hermione deserved the reward of a private room and bath, but Minerva simply couldn't tell her no, especially after Hermione had obviously gone to quite a bit of effort to perfect the room.

The room was painted a pale gold, with a richer shade of curtains. Hermione had obviously lined the room with bookshelves, as those had never previously been there, yet she had cleared off several on Minerva's side of the room. There were two full sized beds, each with a deep red comforter and sheets. A wooden dresser stood next to her bed, and her trunk had already appeared at the foot.

Yes, she could certainly live here in peace. And living with Hermione as a roommate was all the better. She was one of Minerva's favorite students, and Minerva knew her to be fairly quiet when she was on her own, and exceptionally organized. There was no reason why their living arrangement shouldn't work out splendidly, except for one fact—she was Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age—brightest witch of _any_ age. She was bound to find out exactly who _Mary Margaret McSweeney _was before too long. What was Dumbledore thinking? He had to know that the girl would figure it out, was that his hope? That perhaps through Miss. Granger she could have a friend and confidante during this difficult time?

Whatever the reason, Minerva would have to be careful. It wouldn't do to have her students finding out exactly who their new dorm-mate was. Heaving one last sigh, Minerva began to unpack her belongings.

* * *

It was several hours later before Mary came down from their room, and Hermione watched closely as she peaked around the corner into the common room. The poor woman looked like the zebra in the lion's den. Hermione chuckled lightly; poor woman.

"Mary," she called, "You should come sit with us, if you'd like."

Mary smiled thankfully and made her way over to the group near the fire, waving awkwardly before sitting in one of the chair. "This is Harry and Ron," Hermione introduced, "And that's Ginny, and Neville."

"Pleasure," Minerva said quietly. She had brought a book with her, and quickly lost herself in it. Hermione gave a small smile, that's exactly what she would have done.

"Oh No," Ron joked, "It looks like we've found another Mione."

Hermione laughed quietly, "Oh shut up, Ron. Just because you can't read…"

"I can read!" he argued, causing her to roll her eyes.

"I suppose choosing _not_ to read when you are entirely _capable _of reading, is actually worse than not being able to at all," Minerva said quietly, a small smile playing around her lips.

Hermione and Ginny laughed out loud, and Harry just exclaimed, "Oh Merlin, you are like Mione. We're going to have to watch out for her."

"Good, maybe she can convince you to do your own damned homework," Ginny laughed.

Minerva snorted quietly, "I wouldn't say that doing your homework is overly important," she smirked as she read, "There are so many options in wizarding society today, that homework is almost entirely unnecessary. For example, I believe that a Mr. Filch I met earlier is looking for apprentices, perhaps he can hire you when you fail to graduate."

Hermione stared at the girl in shock for a moment, then upon looking at Harry and Ron's faces she started giggling madly, "Oh that sounds like a lovely idea, Mary."

Mary smiled to herself, but continued to read.

"So why did you decide to start at Hogwarts now, Mary?" Neville asked politely, and Hermione smiled. Neville could always be counted on to make someone feel welcome.

Mary paled slightly, "I had been home schooled, but my parents, well they were attacked some time ago, and so I've come here to finish my education. Homeschooling is not recognized by the ministry unless there is a NEWT certified witch or wizard available to supervise."

Hermione frowned deeply, and the rest of their group grew silent. They had all been affected by the war, and they felt for the witch. Hermione's parents had both been murdered while she was on the run, so she could certainly sympathise, "You know, Mary, if there's _anything _we can do to help, don't hesitate to ask," she offered, her friends all nodding their support.

Mary smiled lightly, "Thank you, Hermione. But I think the best help anyone can do for me, is to not treat me like I'm some breakable doll. We've all lost people in the war, and we all must move on with our lives. Are we Gryffindors, or aren't we?" she laughed.

Her friends agreed whole heartedly, and Hermione smiled as she studied the younger witch. Something about her seemed familiar, but she couldn't place her finger on it. Shaking her head slightly, she decided it was none of her business. "Should we make our way to dinner then?" she asked her friends, and Ron was the first to jump up, Harry, Ginny, and Neville following closely behind them.

Hermione smiled, they were a predictable bunch, if nothing else. Hermione walked slightly behind the rest of the group, wanting to talk with Mary, "So what courses will you be in?"

"Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Herbology, Defense, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes, I believe."

"Oh wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, "You're in my classes—I'm also taking Muggle Studies, Astronomy, and Care of Magical Creatures, but I tend to overdo things a bit."

Mary smiled warmly at Hermione, "I think it makes sense to get as much out of your education as possible—once you graduate it's so much more complicated. I would have taken on more, but I didn't want to overwhelm myself—entering the semester late and all."

"Thank you, Mary! I keep trying to explain it to my friends, and they think I'm simply barmy, it's wonderful to know someone else who values a proper education!" she exclaimed, "And I wouldn't worry too much about catching up, we're only two weeks into the semester, so you should be alright. You seem clever, so I don't think the material will be overwhelming for you."

"I certainly hope so," she said quietly, she seemed to ponder something for a moment before asking, "I heard you have recently acquired a new Transfiguration professor—how are they? Transfiguration is one of my favorite subjects."

Hermione frowned, "It's one of mine as well," she answered, "The professor is alright, I suppose. She bores me, but then again, she isn't Professor McGonagall—oh, Professor McGonagall was the previous professor, she's taken a brief sabbatical, I do hope she returns soon. Anyways, I wouldn't worry about doing well, it isn't nearly as challenging of a course now."

Mary frowned, "That's disappointing, you would have thought they would find a better replacement. Transfiguration is such a fascinating subject, but it can be made boring so quickly by the wrong teacher."

"I'm sure that Professor McGonagall will be back before too long, and you'll absolutely adore her. She is one of the most passionate professors I've ever seen," Hermione gushed. "She's been giving me extra assignments since I was in second year—don't mention that to Harry and Ron, they would torment me mercilessly. I guess I just got bored with the work we were being assigned, so I've been doing separate assignments. I love it; I've been working on things in the last few years, that most students don't work on until they are pursuing a Mastery."

"That sounds wonderful," Mary grinned.

"It really is, and it's all because of Professor McGonagall. I do hope she'll be alright, I'm rather worried. I had hoped that before I leave, I could convince her to stay in touch—perhaps be my friend in the future, but that seems unlikely if she's gone now."

Mary glanced towards her feet again, "Things like that have a way of working themselves out, if it's meant to be."

Hermione nodded, "I'm sorry if I'm talking to much, you just—well you seem interested in a lot of the things I am, and I guess I got excited. Please feel free to tell me to stop, everyone else does," she said with a blush.

"Trust me, Hermione, I understand what you mean _entirely. _I used to be quite a bit like that, my friends would pick on me for being such a swot. "

Hermione was just about to ask her about her friends, when they entered the Great Hall, and she thought better of it. As Hermione guided Mary towards the Gryffindor table she heard a whistle from the Hufflepuff table and grimaced, she had wondered if this would be a problem. Hermione wasn't afraid to admit that Mary was an exceptionally attractive witch.

She was tall, taller than average but not unattractively so, and most of the length came from her legs. She had the build of an athlete, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Mary had ever played Quidditch. Yet despite the slim and muscular build, she also had very clearly defined curves, which Hermione herself was trying not to focus on. Her face held all the elegance and intelligence of a much older witch, and her green eyes sparkled with mischief and knowledge.

Hermione shook herself from her thoughts, '_highly inappropriate thoughts,_' she scolded herself.

The point was, Mary was far more than attractive, she was stunning—add that to the fact that she was brand new, not one of the girls which the boys had known since they were eleven and awkward, and she was undeniably desirable.

So far, Hermione had been able to steer her away from the worst of the Gryffindor staring, but now it was dinner time, and that meant open season on attractive women.

When the first whistle was let out, Hermione had sent a glare towards the Hufflepuffs, quickly quieting them. The Hufflepuffs were easily intimidated by the Head Girl, but the other houses wouldn't be so easy and the first whistle had already grabbed their attention.

Hermione cringed for the woman next to her, and selfishly thanked Merlin that she had never garnered much attention from the boys of her school—she didn't think she would be able to handle it all that well. Glancing at Mary, Hermione noticed she was blushing darkly, but also muttering curses under her breath. Chuckling to herself, Hermione leaned over and whispered, "If you point them out to me, I'll take away points later on. I know the handbook backwards and forwards and can promise you that they will slip up soon enough."

Mary laughed, and Hermione couldn't help the warmth which filled her chest at that moment. As another whistle permeated the air, she called behind her, "Robert Finchley—10 points from Ravenclaw for being a Chauvinistic pig—also because your tie is not tied to regulation dress-code standards. Appearance matters, Mister Finchley."

The groan which arose from Ravenclaw was enough to make her dinner wonderful, but the laughter which erupted from Mary made it all the better.

"You don't have to do that, you know. I'm sure you're breaking Head Girl rules by taking points in such a manner," she explained. "I would be fine."

Hermione just shrugged, "Most of the professors would agree with me—technicality or not. And they were being rude; you deserve more respect, Mary."

Mary blushed deeply, "Thank you, Hermione."

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**Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A short bit of harmless Minerva/Hermione interaction-still getting a feel for each other (And in Minerva's case, herself!). Thank you all SO much for your reviews, they're definitely keeping me writing, and keeping me inspired. I suspect this story will be 11 or 12 chapters in total, but we'll just have to see where it goes. So far I have 7 chapters written and in the process of being edited. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!**

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Minerva lay in her bed, listening to the sound of Hermione's breathing across the room, and toying restlessly with her hair. She couldn't sleep.

She had to find a way out of this situation—it was going to be detrimental to her career and her personal life as soon as it came out that she was masquerading as a student.

"_But you're not masquerading, Minerva. You're an eighteen year old girl again, and you may not get to go back."_

No, that wasn't even a possibility she would acknowledge, no matter how much that little voice in the back of her mind wanted her to. Severus and the Weasely twins were bound to find a solution, at which time she would return to her life, as it was.

"_Most witches would kill for the chance to live life again."_

No, that was just stupid. Sure, it was nice to be able to move without pain, and not need her glasses. And she couldn't deny that she far preferred her current appearance to that of her middle-aged self. But she was _happy_ in her present life, and she didn't want to deal with being eighteen again.

Unfortunately, for the moment she _had_ to deal with being eighteen again, which meant spending increasing amounts of time with her students. That wouldn't have been quite so bad, if it wasn't for the fact that she was actually enjoying it.

While she still preferred the company of a book over most people, she had enjoyed dinner with Hermione and her friends, and she had especially enjoyed Hermione. But how would her students feel when she returned to being their middle aged professor? Hermione had already said enough to her to make her feel betrayed.

In truth, Minerva had hoped just as much as her student that they could form a lasting friendship after she graduated, but now—Hermione was bound to feel betrayed after Minerva tricked her and lived with her under a fake name. After she listened to Hermione compliment her own work—thinking that she was just boasting to a fellow student.

Hermione would _hate_ her.

And the boys, well they wouldn't be able to take her seriously at all. More than one of the Gryffindor men had tried to hit on her during dinner, and Harry and Ron had both mercilessly teased her as they spent time together this evening. All of them would be petrified of their _formidable_ professor's reaction to such antics; they would either be terrified of her, or would laugh at her.

Minerva rolled on to her side, letting out a soft huff of frustration. How could she be both of these women at once?

In trying, she seemed to have lost herself entirely. She wasn't the fiery opinionated girl who had caused hell in her youth, nor was she the passionate powerful elegant woman she had grown into. She was just bland. She was polite, and quiet, and shy, and _everything_ Minerva had never had much tolerance for.

"_Damn it woman, you're not some wallflower. Get over it, and start acting like yourself."_

"You're thinking so loudly I can hear you all the way over here," Hermione suddenly whispered from across the room, causing Minerva to start.

"I'm sorry!" she answered softly, "I didn't mean to keep you awake."

Hermione sat up in her bed, shrugging lightly, "You didn't, I'm a bit of an insomniac, truth be told. But I still _try _to sleep at night. I just noticed you were up, and wanted to see if you were alright."

Minerva sat up as well, running a hand through her loose hair. "I'm nervous for tomorrow," she answered, the honesty just flowing from her without constraint, "And I'm unsure about growing attached to people here. And I'm itching for an adventure, but simultaneously just want to disappear into a wall so no one notices me."

Hermione laughed, "Ron would say that it isn't possible for one person to feel that many things at once."

Minerva snorted, "Ron is a nice boy, but he's also a bit dim."

"He's one of my two best friends, but I can't deny it," she answered with a smile, "So you need some mischief? How can I help?"

Minerva laughed, "You're head girl, I can't very well consult you on mischief."

Hermione slid out of her bed carefully, padding over to her dresser. "I don't think you know me all that well yet, Mary. It may be time for you to meet the _real_ Hermione Granger."

Minerva watched as she slipped a pair of jeans under her night gown, and looked away when the girl changed into a scarlet tank top. "Hermione, really, I can't ask you to get yourself into trouble for me," Minerva tried.

"To late, Mary," she said, a mischievous twinkle appearing in her eyes, "Now I'm not going to be able to sleep until I have an adventure, it's only a question of having one alone, or with you."

Minerva was surprised to find herself quickly moving towards her own dresser and pulling out a pair of pants she had purchased that morning, assuming she would need casual clothing at some point. "You're going to get me expelled before I even begin."

Soon enough the two were creeping down the stairs of the dormitories, and slipping into the common room. "Alright, Mary. If you could do anything right now, what would you choose? Absolutely anything."

Minerva shook her head slightly, "I don't know, Hermione."

The young Gryffindor stepped closer to her, "Anything!" she whispered, a grin spreading across her face.

"I'd fly," Minerva answered, before she even knew what she was saying. It seemed her inner eighteen year old wanted to come out and play after all.

Hermione's smile dimmed ever so slightly, but then came back, "Your wish is my command. We're going to go flying."

"Hermione," Minerva tried to reason, "We can't go flying, it's past midnight—if we were to be caught!"

"We won't be caught, I promise. And if we are, I'll make up an excuse. I'm the head girl, aren't I?" Hermione grabbed Minerva's hand and pulled her through the portrait hole.

Jogging through the corridors Minerva couldn't help but stare at her prized student, a small smile blooming despite her best intentions. Hermione had always been so focused on the rules, so desperate to please everyone and yet here she was, breaking all the rules for a bit of fun. It seemed as if Hermione had finally decided to live a little—war can have the effect on people.

"You know I guessed, earlier," she explained as they traveled. "I guessed that you weren't _just _bookish like myself, I thought you may have played quidditch from time to time."

Minerva stopped mid stride, an enormous smile lighting up her face.

Hermione turned back, tilting her head in question.

"I can play quidditch here," Minerva said with a dopey grin, she then took back of towards the pitch, jogging through the empty halls. "I haven't played quidditch in _years_."

"Why did you stop playing?"

"Bad shoulder injury a while back," she explained, and Hermione looked at her oddly. Minerva realized that what she was saying didn't make sense for her particular age. "I mean, I had a bad shoulder injury when I was 12 or so, and my Mum didn't want me to play after that. She was nervous that I would injure it further. I haven't been on a broom since."

"Well that's terrible. I don't fly myself, but I know Harry and Ron would go absolutely insane if they couldn't do it anymore."

"It nearly broke my heart," she replied quietly.

"Well," Hermione said, as they reached the doors, "Tonight we'll mend that, won't we?"

She opened the doors quickly and without a sound, causing Minerva to wonder just how often she snuck out of the castle at night. "Do you do this often?"

Hermione blushed lightly, "I never used to, but I stayed here over the summer, after the battle. And I had terrible nightmares, so I would wake in the middle of the night, and not be able to sleep again. I took to walking down by the lake until I could fall asleep. Sometimes I spent the whole night outside," she explained. "But I haven't done that much since school has been back in session. I don't want to be a bad influence."

Minerva smiled, "Unlike what you're doing now, running about in the middle of the night?"

Hermione stuck out her tongue childishly, "I think we both needed something to take our minds off of things."

"This way," she whispered, pulling Minerva towards the pitch. She made her way towards the broom shed, and Minerva was surprised when she opened it without difficulty.

"Don't they lock them up at all?" Minerva asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer _should_ be.

"They did, but Harry may or may not have broken the lock off a couple of months ago when he wanted to go flying, but I didn't tell you that," At Minerva's questioning glance, Hermione just shrugged, "We all have our way of dealing with the nightmares. I walked, Harry flew."

Minerva nodded; she couldn't fault her students for that—especially those two students. Suddenly, Hermione was throwing a broom at her, "There you have it, Mary. Fresh air, a good broom—show me how it's done," she smiled.

It was as if Minerva's eighteen year old self took complete possession of her body at that point, and she found herself doing something she hadn't done since she was a student the first time. Instead of mounting her broom like a sane person would, she took off in a run, immediately rushing up into the stands, confusing Hermione more than a little bit. Sprinting up the stairs, she walked out in the Professor's stands, over 100 feet in the air, and then without a moment's hesitation she jumped.

The first thing Minerva noticed was the scream of Hermione, but soon enough even that was gone to her. She fell through the air and, as if she had been doing it every day for the past fifty years, threw the broom underneath her at the last moment, darting far from the ground and into the air.

When she was in her seventh year she had taken a nasty bludger to the right shoulder and fallen from a great height. The Mediwitch at the time wasn't quite as talented as Madame Pomfrey and while she retained complete use of her shoulder, she never could fly quite the same. It had been nearly fifty years since she had flown, and yet it felt like nothing. Obviously her body had de-aged itself just enough to avoid that injury.

* * *

From the ground, Hermione could only watch with a mixture of terror, and astonishment.

When Mary had dived off of the stands, she had nearly had a heart attack—she thought that the young witch had tricked her, that after her parent's tragic demise she had decided to end her life. While logically, Hermione knew this was a heavy assumption, emotionally she knew exactly how taxing the loss of a parent—or two, could be. As Mary plummeted towards the ground Hermione felt complete terror, self-loathing, and pain, but when her friend pulled out of the suicide dive Hermione's heart made a complete u-turn and soared with Mary, her fear quickly turning to astonishment.

Mary was over a hundred feet in the air, and while that would usually petrify Hermione, she could only watch her in admiration as she darted across the sky. She had obviously been _very _good when she hurt herself, a natural. And as her hair whipped behind her and her smile lit up the sky, Hermione felt as if she was watching something private and sacred. She felt blessed to see this beautiful woman let go of her fear and lose herself to her passion.

Hermione had always admired passion above all else. It's what made her love Harry, made her admire Professor McGonagall and the Weasely twins. All of them had such passion, it was impossible to not feel inspired by it. And this girl, Mary, she had that passion. Hermione could see why she was sorted into Gryffindor.

Hermione was surprised when she shot towards the ground again, cutting through the air straight towards Hermione. "Hermione!" she shouted as she flew, "Grab my hand!"

"What?" Hermione screamed, eyes wide.

"Grab my hand!"

And Hermione did.

She didn't know what on earth inspired her to; goodness knows Harry and Ron had tried to coax her onto a broom enough times, but without a second's hesitation she grabbed Mary's hand and felt her feet leave the ground.

Mary, despite her slim stature, pulled Hermione onto the broom without a moment's difficulty, and took off into the night. Mary, immediately noticing Hermione's quivering fear, slowed down and dropped closer to the ground. "You're afraid of flying?" she asked quietly.

"Petrified," Hermione whispered her eyes tightly shut and a slight shiver in her voice.

"Why did you take my hand then?"

Hermione laughed shakily, "I have no idea."

"You should open your eyes," Mary suggested softly.

Hermione took a breath, and then listened. Opening her eyes she found that they were flying over the lake, so close that their toes could practically skim the surface. "Oh wow," she whispered, causing Mary to smile.

"I figured that if you liked walking around the lake, you would most likely enjoy flying over it as well—though obviously I didn't take your terrible fear into account, sorry about that."

"No," Hermione whispered, "It's fine, this…this is different."

Mary smiled again, "Good."

They flew for several more minutes in silence, and Hermione couldn't help but think that this was a good way to lose her fear of flying—not with the death defying feats that Harry and Ron, and even Ginny, seemed to think necessary, but with the soft breeze through her hair and the moonlight in her eyes. _This_ she could see a reason for.

"We should probably go back inside soon," Hermione whispered regretfully.

Mary just nodded, "It's my first day, I should probably try to get a bit of sleep."

"Mary," Hermione said unsurely, "Thank you for tonight. This was absolutely wonderful."

Light laughter trickled through Hermione's system, "I think you've forgotten, Miss. Granger, this was all your idea. Head Girl and all."

Hermione smiled, "I think I'd forgotten," she laughed, "I'm so used to being the one that everyone has to push to break a rule. It's nice to be the troublemaker for a change."

"Oh, so you're not the great troublemaker you tried to convince me of tonight?" Mary smirked.

"Perhaps not, but I caused a good amount tonight, didn't I?"

Mary shook her head as she landed softly on the quidditch pitch, "We could have been expelled."

Hermione put the broom away, closing the shed quietly behind her. "It could have been worth it."

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: First and foremost, thank you all SO much for the reviews. I'm absolutely thrilled that you are enjoying my story so much, and that "Mary" has been charming the pants off of all of you. She's charmed me as well. :-) In this chapter-a few blush worthy moments, an introduction to that famous Scottish tempers, and some news regarding Minerva's "Ailment". I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Minerva found herself smiling as the alarm sounded the following morning. Odd, considering that the two women had gone to bed only five hours before, yet something about their adventure had awakened something in her.

She moved quickly from the bed, gathering up her uniform pieces before calling to Hermione, "Mind if I use the bathroom first?" With a tired groan of agreement, Minerva disappeared into the bathroom. Apparently Hermione hadn't felt quite as well rested as she did.

Taking a brief shower, Minerva found herself momentarily shocked by her own appearance. While she certainly wasn't one to moon over her own looks, she hadn't actually had a good look at her body, and was stunned by how different she looked. Not a single wrinkle. Her skin was firm and tight against her fairly toned body.

"Eighteen years old," she whispered to herself, shaking her head slightly. All of this was absolutely unbelievable.

Stepping out of the shower she dressed quickly and, after casting a quick drying charm, took a brush to her long hair. She smiled to herself, that was one part of her which was entirely familiar.

Despite her age, her hair had never turned the expected grey—not yet at least. So her long dark hair looked just like it had any other morning. Running her hand through it, she felt like herself. _You can do this, Minerva. Just stop worrying and enjoy the moment's while you have them_. She nodded slightly at her reflection before leaving the bathroom.

She entered the room, and jumped quickly, turning around to return to the bathroom. "I'm sorry," Hermione squealed, "I thought you would be in the bathroom longer. All of the other girls always took ages."

"It's fine," Minerva answered, hands in the air, her face blushing darkly. She had walked in on Hermione getting dressed, and had seen _far _more than is appropriate for a professor to see of their student. _She's not your student now, Minerva._ That didn't matter though, she still deserved her privacy, and she certainly didn't deserve to have her roommate ogling her naked body.

"I'm dressed now," Hermione said softly, and Minerva turned around. Hermione's scarlet face matched Minerva's and she couldn't help but laugh slightly.

"I really am sorry, Hermione. I'm sure we'll figure out each other's routines soon enough."

Hermione shrugged, "It takes time. I was mostly surprised. I really shouldn't be so bashful. You would think that six years with my dorm mates and a year in a tent with two boys would have taken that away."

Minerva shook her head as she sat on her bed, carefully braiding her hair, "You shouldn't let that be taken away, privacy is important, and people should only be able to enter that sphere of your life when you choose to grant them access, never before."

Hermione laughed softly, "You and I really do think so very alike, Mary."

Minerva smiled to herself, "So, what classes do we have today?"

"Double potions, first thing. Then Charms and History of Magic in the afternoon. I have Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures, after potions, but you should have a free period at that point," Hermione recited quickly, looking over at Minerva she must have noticed the greenish tint on her face. "What's the matter?"

"Potions," Minerva answered quickly, "I've never been very good at potions, and recently I've found myself rather—averse to the whole subject. I had hoped to start my first day on a more pleasant note."

"I wouldn't worry," Hermione consoled, "Snape isn't nearly as bad as most of the students make him out to be, as long as you follow his class rules, and I'll help you out as much as I can."

"I'm sure it will be fine, just a bit nervous," Minerva answered with a small smile, but inside she was in a panic. Severus would _know_ who she was, and would be forced to treat her like any other student. That was a terrifying prospect in itself, she was fully aware of how he treated his Gryfindor students—something they had argued over endlessly.

And she wasn't exaggerating when she told Hermione of her difficulties with potions. She had never understood why an area which came so easily to some people was entirely lost on her. She had only barely passed her own Potion's Newt; she didn't look forward to trying to pass again. And on top of all of that, she didn't want anything to do with _any _potions after her own recent misfortune.

This morning would certainly live up to its Monday morning reputation. Groaning, she shoved her books into her bag and followed Hermione half-heartedly out of their dorm.

* * *

After a short breakfast, Hermione, Harry, and Minerva arrived at the Potions classroom. Harry quickly took his seat in the back of the classroom, and Hermione stopped briefly next to him. "Harry, would you mind terribly if I partner with Mary today?"

Harry just shrugged, "Don't worry about it Hermione, I'll pair up with Dean as long as you want."

"Thanks, Harry," she replied with a smile, and took Mary's hand, pulling her towards the front of the class. "Sorry, Mary, but the only free workspace is in the front."

Minerva nodded lightly as she followed the Gryffindor, "Hermione, I don't know that you want to be paired, with me, really. I don't want to damage your grades."

Hermione smiled widely, "Don't worry so much, I've been Neville's partner for years now, and even that couldn't give Professor Snape an excuse to give me anything less than an A. I do perfect work, and he can't argue it."

"Ah, Miss Granger. Mistaken again, I see," a deep voice rumbled from the back of the classroom, "10 points from Gryffindor for exceptional arrogance."

The Slytherin's across the aisle smirked obviously as Hermione blushed, "That's entirely uncalled for; she was having a private conversation which in no way invited your commentary!" Minerva snapped unthinkingly.

Hermione gasped, eyes wide, and Minerva blushed deeply, inwardly chastising herself for her temper.

"Ah, Miss. McSweeney, if I'm not mistaken. It's good to see that you are fitting in so _very _well with your fellow Gryfindors. 50 points for talking back to a professor, and detention this evening, 8:00."

Minerva began to reply when Hermione grabbed her knee desperately, she bit her lip and took a breath. "Yes sir, my apologies," she said, her words sounding strangled even to her.

Severus simply raised an eyebrow at her, and she stared back defiantly.

"Today we will be brewing Amortentia. This potion is fairly simple to brew, exceptionally illegal to use, dangerous to injest, and completely frivolous in nature—yet the Ministry insists it is necessary to your education. Who can tell me the purpose of Amortentia?"

Hermione's hand darted into the air, causing Minerva to chuckle slightly, "Anyone?" Severus asked, scanning the group. "Amortentia is, most simply, categorized as a love potion. Can anyone tell me why this is considered illegal?"

Again Hermione's hand rose without hesitation, and again Severus ignored her. Minerva furrowed her eyebrows; this was no way to teach. She raised her own hand, and he glared towards her, "Miss. McSweeney."

"It can be used as a method for committing date rape, as well as being dangerous to the person who is the target of such infatuation. There are several recorded incidents of Amortentia drugging which ended in rape, murder, and even arson," she answered clearly, adding as an afterthought, "Though I believe Hermione had her hand up first."

Snape frowned ever so slightly deeper. Waiving his wand, the instructions appeared on the board behind him. "Each student will submit a completed potion at the end of class. If you do not submit a completed potion, you will fail. If I catch anyone taking potion with them, I will alert the Ministry and legal ramifications will follow. Begin."

Minerva shook her head as she began gathering her supplies. She had always heard her Gryffindors complain, but she never thought he was _this _unfair to the students. He didn't leave room for questions, didn't encourage those students who had completed the assigned reading, and was blatantly rude to several of his least favorite Gryffindors. She would certainly be having words with him this evening.

"Mary," Hermione whispered towards her, "You need to crush those scales before you add them—it says in the instructions."

"Oh," Minerva said, blushing darkly. "I skipped that step. Thank you."

Hermione nodded, and Minerva found herself looking at the woman curiously, "Are you alright Hermione? You seem rather…different."

"I'm fine," she whispered back, "It's just best to stay quiet in here, I should have warned you earlier. He will take points for _anything_ which he can—and often times things he can't. The class isn't so bad once you've grown accustomed to it, and he's a very talented potions master—but you still have to be careful."

Minerva nodded silently as she crushed the scales.

"I'm sorry he gave you detention," Hermione said quietly, "But thank you for defending me, it was kind of you."

Minerva smiled softly, "It was the right thing to do."

Hermione sighed to herself, "Just, don't do it again, please. Trust me; it's more trouble for you than it's worth."

Minerva looked at her again, what on earth had Severus done to the poor girl? A loud noise from the back of the classroom drew Minerva from her train of thought. Looking back she saw a red faced Harry, drenched in lavender potion.

"Mister Potter, how, may I ask, did you manage to score an Acceptable and join this class if you can't even manage to brew the most simple of potions?"

"Sir," Harry attempted to interrupt.

"You will receive a failing mark for your potions today, and 10 points from Gryffindor for vandalizing my classroom," he snarled.

"Sir, it wasn't my fault. Robby McNulty threw in three extra scales—uncrushed. That's why my potion exploded," Harry explained desperately.

"Your evidence?"

Dean Thomas piped in, "I saw him sir."

"Unfortunately, rumors do little to prove guilt or innocence, Mister Potter. You should know that."

Severus slithered back to the front of the classroom, leaving Harry to wash the potion off of himself, and hope that no damage had been done to his person. Minerva frowned again.

"Mary," Hermione was whispering desperately, and Minerva looked back quickly. "If you don't add the essence of rose quickly, your potion will be ruined."

Minerva jumped, adding the three drops immediately. Turning to thank Hermione she heard the voice from over her head, and cringed. "Miss Granger, once again I have caught you cheating in class. And once again I am forced to expel you from this period. You will receive a zero for your potion."

"Please, sir," Hermione tried, but he interrupted her much as he had Harry.

"Be thankful I'm not giving you detention, Miss. Granger."

She nodded stiffly and packed her belongings, escaping through the door quickly. Minerva glared at Severus, entirely unimpressed with his teaching style. Not even allowing students to help each other as they work? That was entirely unnecesarry.

"Professor," she called quietly, he looked back at her. "She had already perfected the potion before leaving, would you like it?"

Severus sneered at her, "No, Miss. McSweeney. I have no need of it."

Minerva shook her head disapprovingly, but continued with her potion. She finished slightly before the end of class, and exited the room quietly, hurrying towards the library. She hoped to find Hermione there, and make sure she was alright.

* * *

Hermione sat coldly on the bottom step to the dungeons, patiently waiting for Mary to finish. She may have been entirely humiliated, but that wouldn't stop her from keeping her promise to Mary.

Mary.

That girl was—different. Hermione didn't know another word for it. She seemed to have all of the same bookish tendencies as Hermione, but also an unexpected love for Quidditch, an uncontrollably tempermental tongue, and desire for adventure incredibly similar to Hermione's own.

If Hermione didn't know any better, she would think they were related.

Hermione was humiliated to have been kicked out of class—again. But she couldn't stop the small smile that Mary's defense brought to her face. As much as she didn't want the new student to get in trouble, she appreciated that someone seemed moved by the unjust treatment. Even her closest friends didn't defend her like that most of the time.

She smiled slightly and shook her head; it wouldn't do for her to obsess over the girl, that didn't make for great friendships. Pulling out her transfiguration text book, Hermione began to read.

She was so enveloped in her studies, that she didn't even hear Mary approach. "Hermione?" she called and Hemrione jumped.

"Mary, you made it out!"

Mary nodded, "I wasn't expecting to find you here. I was actually going to go look for you—try and find the library," she smiled.

"I thought I would wait for you, I did promise to show you around, I couldn't leave you stranded in the dungeons," Hermione blushed.

"Thanks," she replied, holding out a hand to help Hermione up. Starting up the staircase, Mary sighed heavily, "I'm sorry that I got you into trouble. I should have been paying closer attention."

Hermione just shrugged, "I could have kept my mouth shut. I'm the only one who is in control of what I do. And while I happily obey all of Professor Snape's other rules, I actively disobey that one regularly. None of his students are going to learn anything if someone isn't willing to teach them. He teaches the Slytherins, and I teach the Gryffindors. We may all fail his class, but I am getting an O on my Potions Newt, and I know it. So really, he can't hurt me all that much."

Mary nodded, "It isn't right, the way he teaches that class. I had no idea it was that bad."

Hermione laughed, "How could you have? Most of the time, the rumors students spread about Professors is bullocks. Snape is just a rare exception to that rule."

"If it makes you feel any better, your potion came out perfectly. As did mine, with your help," Mary told her gratefully.

Hermione grinned widely, "That does make me feel better. Though I had hoped to smell mine, apparently the potion smells differently to everyone, and I was curious."

Mary smiled, "Mine smelled of parchment, thick wool, and something unidentifiably outdoorsy."

They reached the library, and Hermione stopped. "I have to head to Care of Magical Creatures, but I figured you would want to get to know the library sooner or later. And your study hall will be in here anyways."

"Thank you, Hermione. I really do appreciate all of your help."

Hermione smiled, "You should have Harry and Ron in your study hall next period. I'll see you at lunch?"

Mary nodded, and waived as she walked into the library. She disappeared into the stacks, and Hermione took off sprinting in the opposite direction. Glancing at her watch she saw that she only had five minutes to get out to Hagrid's for class.

She knew that she should have just given Mary directions, but she so enjoyed talking to her. As much as she adored her boys, it was nice to have someone else to talk to for a change. As she skidded to a halt at Hagrid's hut, he nodded at her in greeting, "Sorry, I'm late, Hagrid—er—Professor Hagrid."

He grinned widely, "Not a problem Hermione. I know you've been helping the newest student, so don't worry about it."

"Thanks." Hermione sighed. It would be nice to go to Hagrid's after her double potions, refresh her for the rest of the day. She wandered towards where Harry and Ron were standing, "Hey guys," she smiled.

Harry gave her a hug immediately, "Are you okay? Snape is a slimey bastard; he shouldn't have kicked you out."

Hermione just shrugged as Ron gaped, "He kicked you out again? Damn, Mione. You're breaking some sort of record now."

"Harry you shouldn't call him that, you could get in trouble. But yes, I got kicked out again. I couldn't help it though; I couldn't just leave Mary to flounder on her first day. I think she was a bit distracted by Snape's teaching methods."

"Nice how she stood up for you, wasn't it?" Harry said with a smile. "I think she'll fit in just fine in the tower."

Ron balked at the two of them, "Hold up a moment, shy, stares-at-her-feet, new-girl, Mary took on the Bat of the dungeons?"

Hermione laughed quietly, "Yea, she told him that taking points away from me was uncalled for."

"And, in a very polite way, that he should keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business," Harry added.

"She didn't say anything about his nose," Hermione giggled. "She's far too polite for that."

"Is she now?" Harry asked, "She didn't seem quite so polite when she was sarcastically asking him if he would like your perfectly completed potion or not."

"She did what?!" Hermione squeaked.

"You left the room, and she bottled up your potion for you. Asked the greasy git if he would like it, seeing as you had completed it perfectly and all," Harry said with a grin.

Ron laughed loudly and applauded, "Oh I like her. She's like you, Mione, but more willing to mouth off to Snape."

"Did she get in a lot of trouble?" Hermione asked.

Harry just shrugged, "He seemed to let it go, but then again, she already has detention tonight, and lost 50 points."

"Ouch," Ron said with a frown.

"Oh!" Hermione remembered, "Harry, have you held Quidditch try-outs yet?"

Harry looked at her confusedly, "No, they're next Saturday… why? Suddenly catching the Quiditch bug, Mione?"

"No thank you," she laughed, "I took Mary flying last night, and she's spectacular. As good as you, if not better. You should have her try out; you need a new chaser, right?"

"We do," he answered, glancing at Ron unsurely, "But I don't know, Hermione. Quidditch can be a rough game; it isn't really a bookworm's sport."

"Harry, trust me. I know I don't love Quidditch, but I've been hanging out with you two for long enough that I know real talent when I see it. That girl is _good._ She took a running dive off of the Professors Stands, and then jumped on her broom about 10 feet from the ground. She was doing dives that I've never seen you do, and she did them on a Cleansweep."

Ron's eyebrows shot up, "Wow."

"Just get her to try-out, Harry. You won't regret it."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ron interrupted, suddenly catching up with the conversation, "Did you say you took her flying _last night_?"

Hermione blushed darkly and chuckled, "Yea—we couldn't sleep, so we went for an adventure. She even got me on a broom."

Harry laughed loudly while Ron just gaped, "We've been trying to do that for seven years, what did she do?"

Hermione just smiled mischievously, "Well she didn't take off as high and fast as she could go, that's for sure. She just took me for a fly over the lake. I'm still petrified, but it wasn't so bad."

"Alright," Harry said, "This girl is obviously something different; I'll give her a try out."

"Oh thank you, Harry. It would make her so happy, I just know it."

* * *

"Absolutely not," she said without a hint of hesitation.

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"I'm not trying out for Quidditch, it would be a terrible idea," Minerva said firmly.

Ron frowned, "But Hermione said—"

"Well Hermione was incorrect, obviously," Minerva interrupted, her mouth a thin line of disapproval. Hermione had somehow gotten it into her head that _Mary_ should try out for the Quidditch team, and convinced Harry and Ron to give her a try-out.

As much as Minerva may have loved to play again, her time for that had passed, and there was no use focusing on it. She would just be heartbroken all over again when she reclaimed her previous crippled age. Besides, the Gryffindor team would be in trouble if their Chaser just disappeared midway through the season, which would likely happen when she was cured.

No. Going flying with Hermione was one thing, and she could even allow herself to make some friends, but Quidditch was something else entirely. She simply _couldn't _do it.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, disappointed.

"Yes," Minerva answered, apologetically. "I really am sorry, guys. I just have to focus on my studies. But if you ever want to play a game or go flying, or something, let me know." There, that should satisfy them; it sounded quite Hermione-like, and offered an olive branch.

Surely an afternoon flying with friends would be alright, that wouldn't be as much of a problem.

Ron grinned, "That sounds brilliant!"

Harry smiled less enthusiastically, "Alright, if you're sure. But if you change your mind, let me know. And you've got to show us that dive."

Minerva's face turned scarlet, "She told you about that?"

"Of course!" Ron exclaimed, "She couldn't _not _tell us about that, now could she?"

"I suppose not," Minerva said with a soft smile.

* * *

The rest of the day passed with little excitement. Professor Flitwick had recognized her right away, but had held his tongue, and Professor Bins was entirely oblivious.

Minerva quickly settled in to her old know-it-all lifestyle, giving Hermione a run for her money in answering questions. Minerva was mildly aggravated with herself, as she had long ago taken control of that particular sect of her personality, but her aggravation did nothing to stop her hand from automatically raising at the sound of a question.

Still, she was able to earn back the points she had lost in potions, so that was something.

Hermione had tried to talk to her about Quidditch at dinner, but Minerva had completely avoided her attempts, and had hurried away afterwards for her detention. She didn't know how to explain her hesitation to Hermione, and knew that she would have to come up with some lie—but she didn't want to worry about it right now. Right now, she had something else entirely to focus on, and that was the teaching methods of a man who was previously her employee.

She entered the classroom with her head held high, and her hair pulled back. Something about it made her feel far more in control and like her old self.

She found the professor bent over a notebook at his desk, and was relieved to see that she was the only student in detention tonight.

"Severus," she greeted sternly, pulling a chair up to his desk, and taking a seat.

"_Mary_," he said with a smirk.

"I think we need to have a conversation," she said sternly, causing him to roll his eyes.

"I think you need to get to work cleaning out those cauldrons, by hand."

Her eyes flared open, "How dare you? You think that because of a silly potions accident you have the right to treat me like a child? I may be eighteen again, but I could still kick your ass in a duel Severus Snape, and I could still file a formal complaint to Albus."

"I'm so sorry, Minerva. I was under the impression that you were my student for the time being, and that I should treat you the same as the rest of them, perhaps I was mistaken," he sneered. "You openly disrespected me in class today—had it been Granger who had said those things I would have given her a week of detention. My _respect_ for you made it only a night."

"You can give me as many detentions as you want, Severus, but as long as I am here alone, I will not be performing any tasks you assign me," Minerva snapped, "As for disrespecting you, I apologize. When I spoke my mind I didn't realize quite how closed off your teaching methods are. Otherwise I surely would have been more polite."

"Minerva," he argued, "This is my classroom, and as such it is my decision how I teach in it."

"Perhaps, but if you continue teaching like that, you will no longer be in charge of that classroom, Severus."

He glared at her, "I wasn't aware that you had the right to do that."

"I have every right to report exactly what I've observed to Professor Dumbledore," she answered quietly. "Severus, I understand that you dislike teaching. I understand that you are frustrated by the students, and that you are unhappy. But there is a _reason _why most students are forced to take Potions all seven years. It is necessary in nearly every branch of our society, and these students _must _have that skill. You are the most talented Potions Master that our world has seen in many a decade, but your closed off attitude and fear tactics are crippling your ability to share it with those students.

"Do you realize, that Hermione Granger has been teaching all of your Gryffindor students for years now? That is the _only_ reason they have managed to pass their OWL and NEWT examinations! That isn't acceptable as a professor at this school," she said carefully. She didn't want to argue with him, but he needed to understand.

"That girl could brew a perfect batch of Polyjuice Potion in a toilet in her second year. Don't you think that your time as a teacher could have been better spent nurturing that gift, rather than insulting her into submission? You have several students like that, and you are _wasting_ them Severus.

"I may be in the body of an eighteen year old again, but I'm still me. And you must know that I will spend the rest of my time here in detention with you, if I must. But I will _not_ sit by and let you harass the students of this school. I made an oath to protect them, and I will do that—even if it is from you," she finished.

"Minerva, you _know_ I respect you, but I cannot treat you any differently from any of the rest of the Gryffindors," he said after a moment, he almost looked sorry.

"I don't want you to treat me any differently from the rest of the Gryffindors. I want you to treat _all _of your students differently," she said simply.

"Minerva—"

"Severus! You have no reason to be such a curmudgeonly old badger anymore!" She exclaimed, "Goodness man, if you don't want to teach, don't. Merlin knows you have more Galleons than you can spend. You have no reason to torment anyone. Voldemort is dead; you've been hailed as a hero, move on with your life and buy something in a color other than black!"

He just sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as if she had given him a headache.

"I hearby declare this detention finished. I'll be sure to look effectively chastised when I return to the tower," she said finally.

"Wait, Minerva, I did have a matter which required discussing," he called, stopping her at the door. "It's about your accident."

"What do you know," she asked quietly, returning to her seat next to his desk. He sighed, having apparently decided to ignore their argument for the time being.

"The Weasely twins, as much as they annoy me, have created a flawless potion. They have _literally_ discovered the fountain of youth. Unfortunately, that is not something which can be shared with the world; it would be far too dangerous. Over the last week, we have worked tirelessly to modify the potion and they have succeeded in limiting how long it will be effective. The problem is, you have already been dosed with the full strength potion."

"I'm aware," Minerva said tiredly, "Do you have anything new?"

"Minerva, we are going to continue looking for a way to fix this, but—it doesn't look optimistic. You have been turned eighteen again entirely. You're not a sixty year old in an eighteen year old body—you are eighteen."

"I know this, Severus. But how do I fix it?" Minerva asked desperately.

Severus closed his eyes in frustration, "The only cure we know of is a toxic amount of aging potion. You have lost too many years. If we doused you with enough potion to bring you to your previous age, your body would go into shock and shut down. We could bring you to thirty without killing you, but even that would likely cause serious internal damage. The oldest we could make you, according to research, without damaging you at all, would be 24 years old."

Minerva sat back heavily. "There's nothing we can do?" she whispered, and Severus sighed.

"I don't think so, I'm sorry, Minerva. Despite our disagreements, you certainly don't deserve this," he said sympathetically. "I'm going to continue researching it, see if I can invent any sort of solution, but there doesn't seem to be much research to go off of."

Minerva nodded numbly, "I'm going to go, Severus. Thank you for your attempts."

"Minerva, do you need me to accompany you? Are you sure you'll be alright?" He offered, and she shook her head.

"I"ll be fine, Severus. I've lived here most of my life."

She stood from her chair and made her way to the hall, closing the door swiftly behind her. She took a quivering breath, willing herself to leave all the panic behind her. As she walked blindly back to the Gryffindor tower, she listened to the quiet humming voice in the back of her mind, trying to persuade her.

_You are Minerva McGonagall.  
You are eighteen years old.  
You do not have panic attacks.  
You can do this._

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please shoot me a review if you have the time, and tune in for the next Chapter! **_  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello All! Here with another update, I hope you enjoy it! The next few chapters are my favorite so far, so expect them to be coming quite soon!  
**

* * *

_You are Minerva McGonagall.  
You are eighteen years old.  
You do not have panic attacks.  
You can do this._

Those words had echoed through Minerva's mind like a constant mantra, desperately holding her above water, forcing her to continue forward through each day.

It had been over a week since she had spoken with Severus, but at times, the words grew so loud that Hermione or Harry would have to shout for her to hear them, shaking her from the repetitious chanting.

"Mary," Hermione asked carefully, "Are you sure you're alright?"

_You are Minerva McGonagall.  
You are eighteen years old.  
You do not have panic attacks.  
You can do this._

Minerva smiled kindly at Hermione, "I'm alright, really. Just thinking." Hermione nodded worriedly, and Minerva found herself inwardly sighing. She wanted to tell Hermione, she wanted to tell her everything. She needed a friend, a real friend, especially if she really was going to stay this age.

Logically, she knew that Albus wouldn't blame her for telling Hermione. Of all the students, she was the one that they both could trust to keep her secret. And he would understand Minerva's need for a comrade, for someone to be completely forthright with. But the truth of the matter was, Minerva was afraid. She was afraid of admitting the truth to herself, and she was afraid to tell Hermione.

Over the past week, they had grown increasingly close. Hermione seemed to understand Minerva's need for quiet, but also her need for company. They studied together for hours, pouring over books, and on more than one occasion had lost track of time discussing one issue or another. Just last night they had been nearly caught by Argus as they snuck back into the common room after spending several hours discussing the dangers and benefits of Avian Animagus transformation. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning before they actually went to sleep.

This seemed to be becoming more and more common, and Minerva was not entirely comfortable with the way she responded to their friendship. She was continually forced to remind herself that no matter what her eighteen year old hormone poisoned body thought, she was a 65 year old woman, and Hermione was her _student_. That was all there was too it.

That was why she was so quiet during the days, and why Hermione was so completely confused. By the end of the night, Minerva always seemed to lose all control over her inhibitions and would laugh and talk with the younger witch, but come morning, her guilt and shame overwhelmed her—keeping her entirely quiet throughout the day. Minerva felt bad; she could tell that her silence perplexed Hermione. She was worried for her new friend, but Minerva couldn't move past the overpowering discomfort she was feeling.

* * *

_You are Minerva McGonagall.  
You are eighteen years old.  
You do not have panic attacks.  
You can do this._

"Mary, are you listening at all?" Ron pouted, causing Mary to jump slightly.

"Sorry, Ron," she said, her eyes apologetic. "My thoughts just carried me away again. What were you saying?" Glancing across the table at Hermione, she found her staring at her book awkwardly. Ron obviously thought she was reading, but judging from her unmoving eyes, and the fact that she wasn't chewing her lip (a habit Minerva had noticed several nights ago), Minerva guessed that she was just pretending. A light blush covered her cheeks. What had Minerva missed?

Her attention back on Ron, she noticed his ears glowing slightly and groaned inwardly. While she wasn't sure what was happening, over the years she had grown rather talented at reading Weasely's by the shade of their ears. And if the glowing scarlet had anything to say, Minerva was about to be put to the test.

"I was just asking if you had plans on Sunday," Ron said quietly, obviously holding back the nervous stutter which was threatening to escape.

"Erm," Minerva replied awkwardly, she didn't know exactly where this was going—but it couldn't possibly be good. Glancing towards Hermione for help, she found the brunette still focused on her "reading" and apparently entirely unwilling to assist.

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend, you see," Ron continued, and Minerva's mind started screaming. She should have seen this coming when she went flying with the boys last weekend. She should have noticed this possibility… a pretty girl who can fly; she knew _exactly _what was happening now. "And I was wondering if you wanted to go with me—I could show you around, and er, we could get lunch or something. Erm. Yea. What do you say?"

He looked at her expectantly, his entire face having adopted the scarlet shade of his ears and his blue eyes shining with obvious hope. Yet all she could see was the youngest son of some of her closest friends, and the second year version of himself, begging her not to expel him for crashing an enchanted car. No, certainly not. She could never date a student, and of all of them she _certainly_ couldn't date Ron Weasely.

"I'm sorry Ron," she said quietly, "I had already promised to go with Hermione." She lied blatantly, praying that the woman across the table would go along with it—they had grown a rather close friendship recently, and she was confident that Hermione _would_ have agreed to spend the day exploring the village with her—had they looked up from their books long enough to discuss it.

Ron seemed to deflate entirely as he looked across the table at Hermione, "Oh, she hadn't mentioned that. I mean, I'm sure that Hermes wouldn't mind doing that some other time…" he tried desperately.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed imperceptibly, and Minerva found herself snapping at Ron, "She finds that name entirely abhorrent, Ronald. And no, I do not make a habit of making plans with my friends and then dropping them at the last minute. That does not seem like a good way to maintain friendships. While I am flattered by your offer, I must decline."

Ron gaped at her slightly, obviously surprised to hear someone other than Hermione telling him off for his poor manners. "Hermione," Minerva called across the table, causing the younger girl to look up, her brown eyes sparkling with laughter, "If we don't leave soon, we're going to be late for Transfiguration. Walk with me?"

Hermione smiled as she packed her books away quickly, "Sure, see you later Ron."

Hermione walked quickly from the hall with Minerva at her side; upon exiting the Great Hall she nearly dropped her books as she doubled over in laughter.

Minerva smiled affectionately at her, "I'm glad to see _you're _amused."

Hermione gasped desperately for air, "I _told_ him you wouldn't be interested, but he insisted, and made me promise not to tell you. I really am sorry, Mary."

Laughing lightly, Minerva grinned, "Well you were right, I'm not interested in the slightest—I hope you don't mind going with me to Hogsmeade."

"Not at all," Hermione responded, shaking her head. "I meant to ask you, I figured you would enjoy seeing it. But I seem to always get caught up in something when I'm around you."

Minerva nodded, "I meant to as well, thank you for not minding my telling him that. I just didn't know what to say."

"Being his best friend and all, I really should tell you that he's quite a good guy, once you get to know him. Very sweet—when he isn't being an insensitive dolt. Any girl would be lucky to have him—well, any girl other than me," she finished with a light laugh.

"I'm sure you're right," Mary replied with a small smirk. "But unfortunately Ronald is all wrong for me—anatomically speaking."

Hermione tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Minerva grinned, "Well if his gender wasn't enough of a turn off, I could never date a person whose brain is that shrunken." Hermione's eyes glowed with sudden understanding, as she smiled at Minerva's parting jibe. "That's not a problem—is it?"

"Absolutely not, Mary," she said with a pink tinge coloring her complexion.

* * *

3 Hours later, Minerva seemed to have lost her silence and her good mood as she stormed through the halls of Hogwarts. Hermione jogged behind her, her shorter stature finding it nearly impossible to keep up with the taller girl's stride. "Mary, please slow down and tell me what's the matter."

Minerva slowed ever so slightly, a look of slight apology gracing her face, "I don't know what is wrong with that miserable old coot, how could he _possibly_ think that _that_ woman was a suitable replacement! Minerva McGonagall was a holder of an Order of Merlin, and widely recognized as a transfiguration prodigy, as well as having won several awards for outstanding instruction. And Dumbledore thinks it's appropriate to hire a 24 year old who just _barely_ managed to pass her NEWTs and never possessed an ounce of passion for the subject as her replacement!?"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Mary, how do you know all of that? I thought you had never heard of McGonagall?"

Minerva stopped midstride, her face paling, "I—I didn't want to seem like to much of a know-it-all, Hermione. I didn't really know you then, and so I played along a bit, I'm sorry. Of course I had heard of Professor McGonagall, she's one of the most respected witches in the field," Minerva explained desperately. Hoping that Hermione believed her, she quickly continued on, "And, as for our new professor, I did a bit of research after last week's classes. I wasn't overly impressed at that point, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but after this week—oh that was simply abysmal! For God's sake, even first years know how to remove the buttons from a garment when transfiguring it!"

Hermione chuckled lightly, "I thought I was the only one who noticed that."

Minerva snorted uncharacteristically, "I don't know how anyone could have missed it. Buttons aren't exactly _normal_ on a rabbit. Animal transfiguration may be much more complex, but any certified educator should be capable, and of all the mistakes to make, _buttons_ shouldn't have been the problem. She should be arrested for animal cruelty! Transfiguring a poor animal like that, that rabbit will likely never be healthy."

Hermione nodded, "I agree entirely, Mary, but what can we do? She's the professor, and we _must _respect that. You lost nearly twenty points because you insisted on heckling the poor woman!"

"What can we do?! We can march right up those damned stairs and have a word with our brilliant Headmaster. This is _not_ appropriate, not in the least."

Minerva made to storm away, but Hermione grabbed her hand quickly causing Minerva to stop. "Mary," she said quietly, and Minerva could hear the smile in her voice. Turning towards the girl she was greeted by a soft smirk and twinkling eyes. "You know that you can't _really_ go and demand that the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, fire a professor, don't you?"

Minerva found herself momentarily distracted by the soft hand wrapped around her own, the air pressing in heavily around her. With a sudden blushing realization she jumped back, stuttering slightly, "Of course, Hermione. I'm sorry I was being so silly. I just get very—passionate, about such things."

"I completely understand, Mary. Just try and take a breath," She glanced at her feet, her face glowing an impressive shade of pink, "Feel like a walk around the grounds, we've got a couple of hours until dinner, and none of my homework is pressing."

Minerva glanced down, her heart beating loudly, "I can't," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "I need to meet with someone before dinner."

Hermione just nodded, "Alright, Mary. I'll see you at dinner then."

Minerva turned around and hurried away quickly, careful not to look back at Hermione. She was not at all prepared to handle the looks Hermione was throwing her way, and she didn't even think the younger witch _realized_ the way she was looking at her.

Forcing her hormones under control and focusing on the task at hand, she quickly made her way to the Headmaster's office. She and Albus were _long _overdue for a conversation.

Glancing around her swiftly, she saw that the corridor was clear, "Acid Pop." The staircase swiftly appeared and she disappeared as it moved around the corner. Exhaling deeply, she realized that for the first time in a week she was allowed to take off the mask of Mary McSweeney, and be herself. Be Minerva McGonagall.

Knocking softly on the door, she couldn't help but smile when she heard her old friend calling her in.

"Minerva!" he exclaimed, "I had been meaning to send you an owl and find out how you've been fairing. How are you coping with your new life?"

She glared at the older wizard, quickly donning the stern mask of Professor McGonagall, "I would be doing far better if you had hired an even mildly competent professor to replace me, Albus. _Lizzie Portense_? Really? That miserable girl could barely transfigure a pin cushion!"

Albus' eyes twinkled brightly, only annoying Minerva further, "I have missed you, Minerva. And in my defense—I had very little time to find a new professor."

Minerva frowned slightly, sitting in the chair across from his desk and crossing her legs, "I suppose," she huffed, "The terrible excuse for a witch deformed a poor rabbit today. It has buttons on it, and who _knows_ what damage she did to the internal skeletal system. Poor thing."

"I assure you, Minerva, I will continue looking for a more suitable replacement," Minerva nodded lightly, and allowed her face to relax slightly. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, how are you doing—aside from your terrible Transfiguration experience?"

Minerva frowned noticeably, "I don't suppose you've made any progress with my current ailment?"

Albus' eyebrows rose, "I'm sorry, I was told Severus had informed you. Minerva, we don't believe there _is_ a solution to your situation. Unfortunately, I believe you are forced to start again."

Her frowned deepened, "Severus did tell me, I had just hoped—well, I suppose I hoped that he was wrong."

"Is it really such a hardship, Minerva? You are being given an opportunity many people could only dream of."

She sighed, her eyes closing slightly, "Albus, I've worked very hard to earn the life I have—I don't want a new one. Now, I'm no one, I have no identity and I have no one I can be truly honest with," she said quietly. "I enjoyed being a professor, I enjoyed doing research. Now I'm just a silly eighteen year old again."

Albus smiled sympathetically, "Now Minerva, you were _never_ a silly girl—though slightly more rebellious, if I recall correctly."

Minerva rubbed her hands nervously, "Albus, there have been—unexpected consequences of the shift in my age," she blushed darkly and Albus raised an eyebrow in question. "It seems that not only have I deaged physically—I have also deaged emotionally."

Albus frowned slightly, "How so?"

"I've found myself having difficulty controlling my temper again, and my raw magic. I'm far more prone to spontaneous irresponsibility, and I'm nearly incapable of controlling what I say. I keep blathering off personal information which I would rather keep from my students. And I'm entirely incapable of controlling my emotions. I've nearly broken down several times this week, Albus—that is something I had mastered quite some time ago. And then there are the hormones…"

Albus laughed, "Ah so now we reach the true problem—you have _always _had difficulty controlling your temper, and you are in a situation which even you can understand to be emotionally trying. You wouldn't be concerned over those things, Minerva."

"Albus, this is a real problem!" she exclaimed, "I'm a sixty-five year old professor! I can't go around developing silly crushes, or forming friendships with my students, it's completely unethical."

Albus looked at her closely, and she couldn't help but grimace. He was giving her the look which could only mean one thing, he knew _everything_. The damnable old man knew exactly what she wasn't saying, and he was considering exactly how to respond to her. He was looking at her like he looked at his _students_.

"Damnit, Albus. I'm not your student. Stop staring at me over your glasses like that—it isn't going to work on me!" she snapped, causing Albus to smile.

"Minerva, may I be entirely straight forward with you?" Minerva nodded cautiously. "The fact of the matter is, you are _not_ a sixty-five year old professor anymore, and you won't be one for another forty-seven years. You are eighteen years old, and there is absolutely no reason to think that you won't stay that way. Now, I wouldn't suggest you tell anyone exactly what has happened until after you have graduated—that is likely to make things very awkward around your classmates, and we still need to consider the safety of such an invention being revealed to the public. But once this year is up and the potion's formula is safe, you are free to do as you please. Should that be teaching here, I will welcome you back gratefully. If you would prefer to try something else instead, I will support you entirely. You are my _friend_, and I simply want your happiness.

"That being said—you are no longer these students' professor, you have befriended several of them, and unless you lock yourself up for the rest of your life, you are likely to befriend many of your past students. You've taught the large majority of witches and wizards in Britain. Don't spend the rest of your life alone simply because you've had this accident. Make friends, find romance, and live your life—Minerva, you have a second chance. Don't waste it being miserable."

Minerva groaned audibly, she knew that he was right, but that didn't mean she had to like it. "Albus," she said desperately trying to keep the pain out of her voice, "I just want to be me again."

"Then be you again, Minerva," he responded gently, "You were never defined by your age before—don't be defined by it now."

Minerva knew all of this. Before Hermione Granger had come along, _she_ was known as the smartest witch of the age. Logically it all made sense. But even without her eighteen year old emotions going wild—this was a lot to take in.

Both the good and the bad, it was just too much. She was starting an entirely new life. She would never be the same again. _Everything_ was different now.

_You are Minerva McGonagall.  
You are eighteen years old.  
You do not have panic attacks.  
You can do this._

And clinging to those thoughts as they raced desperately through her mind—Minerva began to panic.

She could _not_ do this.

* * *

**I realize this chapter ended much like the former, but trust me, it's important. :-)**

**In response to some of your reviews, don't worry, I believe that _honesty is the best policy_ as well. Keep in mind, Mary/Minerva may be having many of the emotions of her eighteen year old self-but Professor McGonagall is far from gone. It would take her time to form that kind of trust. And even though Hermione is brilliant, she is also exceptionally cautious. In my mind, even if she did have suspicions, she wouldn't voice those until she was sure. Remember how cautious she was in accusing Draco Malfoy of anything in HBP?**

**Things will move quickly, as they tend to when you're 18/19 and in love...or in crisis, but be patient with the poor girls! :-)**

**As for how often I update, I tend to update after I finish writing a chapter. For instance, I just finished writing Chapter 9, so I did final edits on Chapter 4 and am now sharing it with all of you fine folks! I find it's a good way to make sure I don't update like crazy, and then suddenly go on a month long hiatus while I try and find out what will happen next! Still-I write a lot, so your wait shouldn't ever be too long! **

**I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope you keep reading and reviewing! Your reviews really do inspire me to write more quickly!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I short update, but important. And a good bit of drama, for those of you who have been waiting. My other favorite is coming up next! **

* * *

As Mary McSweeney came pelting towards Harry, his face quickly adapted a comical portrait of shock as she pushed through the rest of their classmates, ignoring Hermione's worried eyes, and stopped directly in front of him to speak. In any other situation Minerva would have felt terrible for surprising him in such a way, but as it was, she completely ignored his look of frightened bewilderment, "Harry, I need to use your broom," she said plainly, her voice cracking slightly.

"Are you alright?" He asked, confused.

"Please Harry, I know we've only just met, but you understand far better than most that sometimes, you just need to fly. Please, may I use your broom?"

She watched as he studied her carefully, but something in her eyes must have told him he could trust her, told him that she needed this. He nodded slowly and she thanked him before shooting up the stairs. Sharing a brief look, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all followed quickly behind her.

* * *

Opening the door to the boy's dormitory, Hermione let out a scream as she watched Minerva dive headfirst out the window of the tower, into the pouring rain.

Harry and Ron's shock completely overtook them when Hermione suddenly summoned Ron's broom from their closet, "Hermione, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Harry shouted, but his question was ignored as she shot out the window without hesitation.

Hermione had never feared much, she supposed that made it easy to be a Gryffindor, but she feared heights. She feared heights, and falling, and landing. She feared brooms, airplanes, towers, and balloons, all of it. And yet, like any true Gryffindor would, she met her fear that night and she beat it.

Somewhere in her mind, she felt laughter stir at the cliché of it all. Rain was pelting her from all directions as she sped after the unhinged girl, the epitome of drama, but that didn't bother her. What bothered her was the small blob eighty feet below her, who had yet to pull up from her dive— who had yet to even mount her broom.

Hermione flattened herself against the flimsy piece of wood, mirroring Harry exactly. She could only hope that years of watching could help her somehow in this situation. Finally, with fifty feet left to fall, Minerva mounted her broom, angled out of her dive, and shot off towards the lake.

Hermione tried to do the same thing, mirror the same grace, but she nearly fell off three times before she actually managed to change direction entirely. It was close for her, _too_ close, but she made it. She kept herself flat against the broom, desperately urging it faster—despite knowing that the Firebolt was the fastest broom in the world.

Hermione followed as closely as she could, praying that her friend wouldn't do anything foolish—anything _more_ foolish than jumping off of the second highest tower at Hogwarts. She had flown for nearly forty-five minutes before Mary slowed down, and by that point Hermione's back was burning, her thighs were on fire, and her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

She nearly cried when Mary finally landed, and attempted to land beside her. Instead she crashed into the ground some ways away, and thanked Merlin that she hadn't broken Ron's broom in the process. Limping heavily, she hurried towards the area where Mary had landed.

Soaked through her clothing, bruised, limping and in complete shock, Hermione shouted, "What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?"

Mary jumped at the sound of her voice, obviously not having seen Hermione following. Eyeing the broom in Hermione's hand her face took on a comically shocked appearance, "You… you followed me?"

"Of course I damn well followed you, you crazy bint!" Hermione swore, "I couldn't just let you jump out of a window and disappear!"

"Hermione, you don't even know how to fly, you failed your flying lessons." she whispered, completely shocked.

"I'm aware!" Hermione roared. "Now please answer me, as I repeat this pretty basic question…. What the _bloody hell_ did you think you were doing jumping out of the fucking tower?!"

It was doubtful that either would ever be able know who was more shocked in that moment, Minerva, upon discovering that Hermione had jumped out of a tower, somehow survived it, and was now swearing at her—or Hermione, when "Mary" threw herself into her arms sobbing.

Hermione caught the girl and sunk towards the ground, her own trembling legs unable to hold them anymore, "It's okay," she whispered shakily, letting go of her anger quickly. "Whatever it is, it's going to be okay."

Mary sobbed uncontrollably, and though Hermione tried to understand, it was difficult. Mary was sorry, that much she kept repeating. Sorry for scaring Hermione, sorry for endangering her, and sorry for a whole myriad of other reasons. On top of that, she just kept saying that she had tried not to panic.

Hermione didn't know exactly what Mary had planned not to panic about, but whatever it was, she had obviously failed. "Mary," she whispered finally, "were you just flying because you were trying to release your stress—or, or were you trying to hurt yourself?"

Mary looked up at her quickly, "Hermione, I wasn't—I wouldn't ever. I just, I was upset, I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm _so _sorry."

Hermione sighed heavily, she was just relieved that they were both still alive, "It's alright Mary," she whispered tiredly, "I mean, it's not _alright_. You damn well better not do anything like that ever again. But I forgive you."

She hugged Mary again, desperately clinging to her, "Is it alright if we go inside now?"

Mary nodded, "I don't suppose you want to fly?"

Hermione shook her head quickly, "Never again."

* * *

Hermione shot off a patronus to the boys, as they began their trek back towards the Castle. Minerva had nearly reached the main gates when she stopped.

Minerva watched her former student carefully, worrying for her. Hermione was staying strong, trying to take care of _Mary_, but she was shaking from head to toe, and had obviously hurt herself when she landed. She limped heavily, and was holding her arm gingerly. She was also shivering violently because of the rain.

Minerva had never been so ashamed in her life. She had completely lost control after leaving Albus. As hard as she had tried to focus and force herself to keep functioning, for some reason, it didn't work. She had fallen into an overwhelming anxiety attack, which somewhere in her mind told her flying was the only answer. Hermione was lucky not to have died during that dive—it had taken Minerva nearly eight years to master that dive, and she had been considered an expert flyer because of it.

_Why the hell couldn't I control myself?_ She thought bitterly, and why had she broken down when Hermione finally caught her? Where was the carefully built self-control, and the powerful mask? When has she been reduced to a whimpering child?

The answer was clear—it was the potion. Just as she had told Albus, it hadn't only taken away her age physically, but made it more difficult for her to function mentally. Given her back the frequent mood swings and irrational decisions of the average teenage girl.

_Lovely_.

Not only that, but her irrationality had nearly killed her closest friend—student. Her student. Minerva groaned audibly and raked a hand through her tangled hair. This was all far too confusing. Hermione looked back at her, "What happened?" she asked quietly, and Minerva knew that she was asking what had set her off.

Minerva shook her head, "I don't know." It was the truth; she didn't know what had happened, not really. Sure, she could tell Hermione the truth about the potion, about who she really was. But that didn't explain the bout of insanity which just occurred. "I was upset; I don't really want to talk about that. But I was upset, and I…I don't know. I just lost it."

Hermione nodded, "I've had those moments," she responded quietly, and Minerva was left wondering what those moments had been. "Mary—I've only known you for a week, but I like you. _Really_. I apparently like you enough to jump from a tower for you. Please, please don't do something like that again. Selfishly, I don't want to have to chase you again, and we both know I will. So please don't do it again, okay?"

"I won't," she croaked, and Hermione nodded, apparently satisfied.

* * *

They walked the rest of the way in silence, both mulling over their respective experiences, and when they reached the Fat Lady she opened up without asking for the password, too shocked from the rain drenched picture they painted.

"I'm going to go to bed," Mary whispered, making her way up the stairs without a response, and Hermione stared after her, shaking her head slightly.

Ron and Harry ran for her, Hermione handed Ron the brooms blankly and Harry engulfed her in hug.

"You're okay," he breathed, "Thank god, you're okay."

Hermione let him hug her tightly, and tried desperately to stifle the tears which threatened to overflow. Harry looked over her shoulder to Ron, who nodded in return, and Harry led her back out of the common room, and down to a deserted stairwell—the one they had sat together in on the night that Ron and Lavender began dating.

As they sat down, Hermione lost her barely kept composure. Heavy, unattractive sobs wracked from her body as he held her to him. "It's okay, Hermione. You're okay."

He cast a quick drying charm on her clothing and hair, and rubbed her back as she hiccoughed slightly. "I was so scared, Harry," she whispered brokenly, "So scared."

"Did you find out why she did it?" he asked softly, but Hermione shook her head.

"She didn't want to talk about it, but I don't think she'll do it again. She was upset about something, something big. Maybe her parents," Hermione muttered, "Afterwards, she was more upset that she had endangered me than anything else, she couldn't believe I followed her."

"Why _did _you follow her, Hermione?" Harry asked carefully, not wanting to upset her more.

Hermione just shook her head, "I don't know Harry, I just did it."

Harry hugged her closer and kissed her hair lightly, "Hermione, I love you. You really are a sister to me—not _like _a sister, you are a sister to me. Hell, you're more than that. I thought you were going to die, you can barely hover on a broom and then you just jumped out of a window with one… Please don't do that again."

Hermione laughed darkly, "I don't plan on it Harry."

Harry looked at her closely, "You know, you once told me I have a _saving people thing_. I think you have one too," Hermione nodded quietly; "You would do it again, wouldn't you?"

Hermione nodded again, and Harry sighed. "I suppose I can't blame you," he whispered.

"I can't believe we didn't die," she said, the shock still evident in her tone. "I can't believe I pulled out of that dive."

"It's official," Harry grinned, "You're good at _everything_."

Hermione laughed and swatted his arm, "I am not."

Harry smiled fondly at her, and paused for a moment. Taking a breath, he said, "Can I ask you something Hermione?"

She nodded, her eyes still staring off.

"You _care_ about her don't you?" he asked softly.

Hermione looked up at him, "What do you mean?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Don't play dumb, Hermione."

She sighed, "She's a very nice person."

"And a very smart person and a very good looking person…" Harry continued, causing Hermione to glare.

"I don't know her well enough to be sure about anything—it's only been a week."

"You went flying with her—voluntarily."

Hermione blushed deeply, "I was feeling _in the moment_."

Harry laughed, "And you blush every time I mention her."

"She's just a nice person," Hermione argued.

"You _like_ her," Harry insisted.

Hermione's blush grew, "And if I did?" she asked quietly.

He shoved her shoulder playfully, "Then I would say that is far too soon to be _caring_ about someone you only just met." Hermione stuck out her tongue, and Harry laughed. "Hermione, I just want you to be happy, Ron too. And I don't care if that is alone, or with a man, woman, or centaur," he joked, "I just want you happy. She seems wonderful, aside from the suicidal tower-jumping thing. And she seems to inspire you to have some fun, which is good. Goodness knows Ron and I need help with that."

"You really mean all of that, Harry?" Hermione asked, and he nodded. "I'm not in _love_ with her or something, I barely know her. There's just something about her which feels familiar, and safe, and which I like very much. And it doesn't hurt that she's brilliant and gorgeous," Hermione laughed.

"Hermione and Mary sitting in a tree," Harry sang, causing Hermione to swat him on the arm again.

"Shush you."

* * *

**Thank you for reading, and all of your kind reviews so far! I would LOVE to know what you think of this chapter! Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Happy Saturday! I'm pretty sure this chapter is what quite a few of you have been waiting for, so I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

Albus Dumbledore couldn't mask the chuckle which escaped him as he greeted his student. At only ten o'clock in the morning, Hermione Granger, in all her 5"4' glory, stood at his door, arms crossed, eyebrow quirked, and reminding him strongly of a certain Transfiguration professor when she has been tricked.

Her frown deepened as he chuckled, and he quickly stifled the offensive noise, "Good Morning, Miss. Granger, please come in."

"Professor," she greeted with a nod, "I hope it's alright, my stopping by without making an appointment. I found myself rather pressed to see you as soon as possible."

The headmaster smiled pleasantly and directed her to a chair, "Of course Miss. Granger, it's always a pleasure to visit with you. Could I offer you a cup of tea?"

Hermione gave a sigh of relief, and politely declined. She had been worried, coming to the Headmaster's office at this time of day, and without an appointment. But it had been several days since Mary's flying episode, and she had scarcely slept since. She was incredibly displeased with Professor Dumbledore, and required certain answers. Questions aside, she didn't want to anger the wizard, simply to interrogate him, and she was pleased that he seemed to welcome her.

"How may I help you this morning, Miss. Granger?" He asked politely.

She crossed her legs and tapped her foot nervously, taking a deep breath she asked, "Professor Dumbledore, may I speak quite plainly?" He nodded, his face expressing simple curiosity. "Over the last seven years, I don't believe I've done anything to imply that I'm unobservant or unintelligent. Lacking judgement—occasionally. But never unobservant or unintelligent."

Professor Dumbledore nodded, "Certainly not, Miss. Granger," he replied, causing her to blush.

"So why is it that you and Professor McGonagall seemed to be convinced that I wouldn't notice her eighteen year old self living in my dormitory?" She asked stiffly, surprised when he only chuckled with amusement.

"I was never under the illusion that you would be fooled, Miss. Granger. I _had_ thought it would take you slightly longer to confirm your suspicions, you being more cautious in nature, but I suspected you would figure it out eventually."

"The nice new Scottish Gryffindor with long dark hair, piercing green eyes, and an awkward habit of referring to her peers as Mr. and Miss. Nothing suspicious there," Hermione said sarcastically, immediately regretting her tone. "I apologize, Sir. I didn't mean to use that tone."

The headmaster waived a hand, dismissing her concerns, "If I may, when did you begin to suspect, Miss Granger? Just out of my own idle curiosity?"

She smiled slightly, "Immediately, Sir—though I chalked that up to my being insane for the first several days. Then I thought that she was perhaps Professor McGonagall's niece, knowing she has two brothers. But her back story didn't fit into that possibility. Over the last several days, I've been almost entirely certain—she has known things that she shouldn't know, on several occasions. My failing my flying lessons, her knowledge of Professor Portense—not to mention her knowledge of herself. And she knew where your office was without having been told. All of it added up."

The professor's eyes twinkled behind his glasses, "Very impressive, Miss. Granger," he said with an approving nod. "Do any of your other classmates suspect?"

"No, sir. And I haven't mentioned it to anyone."

"That, I am glad of, Miss. Granger. Now tell me, why didn't you approach Minerva directly?" he asked curiously.

"Well sir," she began nervously, "For one, I wasn't entirely sure until several days ago—and I was rather worried about being laughed at. _Mary _and I have formed quite the friendship, at least I think we have, and I wouldn't have wanted her to suddenly declare me barmy and run off. Besides my own embarrassment, I have several theories as to what may be happening—but in the case of my assumptions being incorrect; I thought I should ask you rather than Professor McGonagall herself. I wouldn't want to cause any lasting damage."

"A very wise decision, Miss. Granger. If I may be so bold, what is your theory regarding our well-missed Transfiguration Professor?"

Hermione took a moment, carefully constructing her thoughts. She didn't want to seem like a fool—though she was quite sure of what must be going on. "Sir, I believe that Mary McSweeney _is_ our Professor McGonagall. She has too many necessary memories, and is far too in control to be the actual eighteen year old Minerva due to some time travel mishap, and if that was the case our Minerva would undoubtedly know how to send her back to the proper time—having lived through it all once before.

" Therefore," she continued, "It is my belief that she has suffered the ill-effects of a dangerous experimental potion or curse. A potion seems most likely though, as a hex or curse of that degree would likely leave permanent physical damage, and in living with her I have yet to notice any such physical scarring.

She paused for another moment, clearing her thoughts slightly, "My assumption is that if such a potion exists, it would need to be kept very quiet, especially considering there is not currently an antidote. Therefore Professor McGonagall was left with no other option but to join the student body, as a way of staying close by while a cure is discovered." As Hermione finished she let out a quick breath and tapped her foot nervously against the floor.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for outstanding deduction. I believe that the Muggles' Mister Holmes would have seemed much less impressive had he been faced with your wit," Hermione blushed deeply, "You are entirely correct in your assumptions, Miss. Granger, and it seems as if you actually have very few questions to ask."

Hermione smiled slightly, "Primarily I wanted to confirm my theory. Though I also wanted to know, would it be alright for me to tell Professor McGonagall that I'm aware of her circumstances? I don't want to cause her any undue stress by uncovering her secret, but I feel as though she would probably have an easier time if she was aware that someone else knew of her predicament."

Dumbledore smiled at her, "Miss. Granger, I think she would welcome the camaraderie. Be cautious though, she is still _very_ unsure of the world which she has suddenly found herself in. And sharing friendships with and emotions towards her prior students is not an easy situation for her to handle. I trust that you will choose the right time and environment to speak with her."

Hermione nodded quickly, "I only have one other question, sir," she said quietly, "Professor McGonagall—how likely is she to find a cure?"

"Unfortunately, Miss. Granger, that is a question which I believe Minerva should answer for you," he sighed, and Hermione could tell that she wouldn't be receiving any more answers at this point. He would leave any other explanations to Professor McGonagall herself.

Hermione stood, carefully straightening her robes, "Thank you for meeting with me, Professor. And I'm sorry that I approached you in such a confrontational manner—I wasn't sure that you would be willing to give me the answers I needed. Thank you for speaking with me," she said, smiling gratefully. "I am actually supposed to go with _Mary_ to Hogsmeade today, and should probably hurry if I want to be on time."

"Always a pleasure, Miss. Granger," he smiled, walking her to the door. "I hope you have a lovely day."

The door clicked shut behind her and she felt her legs shake as the stairs carried her downwards. Mary was Professor McGonagall. Professor McGonagall was Mary. Hermione had become close friends with Professor McGonagall. She had told her _everything_. She had _flirted _with her! Hermione stepped out of the stair case unsteadily, and leaned against the wall—thankful for the deserted hallway.

Hermione's face turned scarlet as she replayed all of their interactions, Minerva McGonagall had seen her _naked_! "Oh god," she whispered. "Oh holy fuck!"

Sure, she had figured out the big mystery. She was confident enough to approach Dumbledore about it, wasn't she? And she had held her suspicions for nearly two weeks—but most of that time she had spent convincing herself that she was crazy and to stop thinking that way. She hadn't actually considered that she could be correct! She walked quickly down the hall and found the nearest bathroom. Sinking to the floor she rested her head against her knees.

Hermione had _never_ been the type to develop feeling for a professor. Sure, there was the unfortunate crush on Lockhart in her second year—but she had long ago dismissed that as her peers influence. They had told her she _should_ have a crush on him, so she had convinced herself she_ did_ have a crush on him. He was a brainless boob; of course she never expected anything to happen between them. But aside from that—Hermione didn't do this sort of thing. She was logical and clever and ridiculously mature!

Minerva was sixty-five years old. And she was her professor—her mentor. She wasn't supposed to have developed _feelings _for the woman! Groaning loudly, Hermione lifted her head and stared across the room for a moment.

_What you need is a plan?_ The voice in her mind told her calmly.

"A plan for handling my eighteen year old dreamgirl/sixty-five year old professor… that's normal," she argued with herself.

_No, a plan for how to treat her. This isn't Minerva's fault, she didn't have a choice._

"It's not her fault I developed feelings for _Mary_."

_Well—she could have refrained from flirting back._

"She wasn't flirting with me. She never saw me that way."

_She was flirting with you._

"Professor McGonagall would never do that, she's far too honorable."

_Mary is eighteen years old and hormone driven, just like you._

"Shut up!" she shouted suddenly unable to handle her own thoughts any more. "I just—I just have to deal with it. I've been petrified, tortured, and have dueled with Bellatrix Lestrange. I can certainly handle a little crush."

She stood up quickly, dusting the grime off of her robes, and checking her appearance in the mirror. She could do this.

* * *

Minerva let out a hiss of pleasure as a jet of hot water hit her back, turning her face to the water she relished in the feeling of the steaming liquid running through her hair and over her body. She had forgotten just how satisfying a hot shower could feel after playing Quidditch.

She smiled slightly to herself as she grabbed a bar of soap, _Quidditch_.

Ever since she had broken down several nights ago, something in Minerva had changed. It wasn't that she had stopped worrying about her new age, or that she didn't want to be herself again—but she had realized that she had no control over the situation, so there was no point in allowing herself to worry about it anymore than absolute necessary. And if she was going to stay this way, then she might as well enjoy it.

So this morning she had surprised Harry and shown up at Quidditch try-outs. She smirked slightly at the look on Ronald's face when she went pealing around the stadium. She didn't have her own broom anymore—yet. But she was still the fastest flier on the field, aside from Harry on his Firebolt. And her dives were as impressive as ever. No one watching could have guessed that it had been over 40 years since she had played. She felt some mild discomfort at having beat out several of her students for positions on the team, but she shoved that aside.

_You are Minerva McGonagall.  
You are eighteen years old.  
You are __**staying**__ eighteen years old.  
You might as well enjoy yourself._

She was the newest Gryffindor chaser, and the team was excited to start training with her. Now of course, try outs were over, and she had a whole different side of her life to consider. Today was her day with Hermione.

_Day, Minerva, Day. Not Date. Day._

They were meant to meet up in the Great Hall at eleven, leaving them plenty of time to explore Hogsmeade. Rinsing the shampoo from her hair, Minerva couldn't escape the small tingle of happiness that ran up her spine at the thought. It had been _so _long since Minerva had gotten a day off to just wander. Spending a day with Hermione, perusing bookshelves and drinking butterbeer, it sounded simply fantastic.

Sure, there was the nagging fear that bit at Minerva. She knew that she would need to tell Hermione the truth sooner rather than later, though she had yet to decide when. But that knowledge did nothing to put a stopper in the fear of Hermione finding out her secret. The fear of her emotions taking hold of her. The fear of their quickly budding friendship. She was afraid of quite a lot these days, but that wouldn't stop her from having a good day. If she was going to live in this body, she needed to learn to enjoy it, and that included friends.

She was still horrified by her behavior on Thursday night—but she couldn't focus on that now. Hermione had made it clear that the matter was closed, and Minerva respected that. If anyone had a right to be upset, it was Hermione, and Minerva wouldn't disrespect that by forcing her to relive it. Was Minerva curious as to why Hermione had forgiven her so easily? And why she jumped out of that tower in the first place? Of course. But for now, she would have to shrug it off as Gryffindor courage—or stupidity—and continue on with her day.

Minerva turned off the shower, and glanced quickly outside of her shower stall. She had purposefully waited until the rest of her female teammates were gone before getting into the shower. She may have been embracing her new age—but she wasn't quite to the point of being nude around her students. She shivered at the thought.

Seeing that the locker room was clear, she hurried to her locker. She only had fifteen minutes until she was meant to meet Hermione, so she needed to be quick. Pulling her wand from her boot, she cast a quick drying charm, and pulled her clothes on.

Lacing up her boots, she jogged from the locker room. She smiled at the empty pitch; she would need to get a new broom soon—there had to be a way for her to access her accounts. She had spent most of her life teaching at Hogwarts, and saving every penny. She could certainly afford a good broom. That thought made her smile widen, and it just seemed to grow insurmountably as she approached the doors of Hogwarts. Hermione stood just outside of them, looking ever the Gryffindor Princess in a gold jumper, brown tights, and daring leather boots.

"Well, don't you look smashing!" she complimented, an unprecedented lightness in her step.

Hermione blushed darkly, and a look of fleeting panic flickered across her face before she reclaimed the smile she had previously worn. "Thanks, er, Mary," she fumbled, rubbing the back of her neck anxiously.

Minerva tilted her head slightly, "Are you alright, Hermione? You seem a bit peckish."

"I'm, I'm fine," she stuttered, and then cringed, realizing her obvious lie. "Sorry, I'm just a bit stressed out. Nothing I can't handle though."

Minerva shook her head slightly; the young Gryffindor would never change. "Hermione, it's a beautiful Saturday in October! We get to spend the entire day enjoying it together, and from what I hear, there is an absolutely marvelous bookstore in the village. Please," she begged, taking a hold of her friend's hand, "Stop worrying and enjoy the day."

Hermione's eyes lightened, and her smile reclaimed her entire expression, "I'm sorry. I think I can do that," Minerva let out a cheer, causing Hermione to burst into a fit of giggles. "You are in quite the mood today—should I assume your Quidditch try-out was successful?"

Minerva raised an eyebrow in Hermione's direction, "Always in doubt! You've seen me fly, of _course_ it was successful. You are looking at the newest Gryffindor Chaser!"

Hermione groaned, "Oh no, you're not going to become as unbearable as the boys now, are you?"

"Never, darling. I still much prefer the company of books, and you, over a broom!" she said with a grin, "Though I do like the broom as well." Minerva felt her heart spin as Hermione blushed again. She knew that she should be in better control of herself, but she just felt so _happy_. Was she really so wrong to try and enjoy the new life she was living?

It wasn't as if she was doing anything _wrong_, she was just having fun. Besides, from the expression on Hermione's face when they had met up, Minerva guessed that she could use a day of fun.

"What a relief," Hermione smiled, "What convinced you to try out anyways? Last I heard, you were bent on avoiding the team."

"I decided that if I'm going to spend the rest of this year at Hogwarts, I may as well enjoy it," Minerva explained. "I'm tired of worrying what I may _miss_ when I graduate, or how upset I _should _be about my current predicament. I would rather try and enjoy life." Glancing at Hermione she hoped that her explanation made sense for _Mary McSweeney. _Hermione just nodded.

"It makes sense to live life as it comes, rather than focusing too strongly on the past or the future," she said quietly. "I'm not a great model for that—I worry about the future nearly constantly, and I have nightmares about the past, but I do believe that. You can't control what has happened to you, or what will happen—only what you are doing in any particular moment."

Minerva found herself glancing at Hermione again, "That was rather profound, Miss. Granger."

"I try," Hermione said with a smirk.

* * *

Hermione was trying—really she was. She had convinced herself to view Minerva simply as a new friend, and not worry about the rest—but the woman was making it damned difficult.

For one—she was wearing her hair down. Minerva McGonagall _never_ wore her hair down. Ever. Yet today she was grinning like an idiot as her hair flew about her in the Fall winds, and it was completely distracting to Hermione. Add that to the comforting touches, and flirtatious banter—friendly, not flirtatious. She wasn't flirting, she was just being friendly.

Well, flirtatious banter or not, it was getting to her. She was just barely restraining herself from leaning in every time Minerva touched her—that wasn't alright! She could only pray that Minerva hadn't noticed.

Their day had been glorious so far, after arriving in Hogsmeade the quickly found the bookstore. It was a welcome change to peruse the shelves with someone who wasn't continually rushing her to move on. It would seem like such a small thing to most people, but for a girl who loved books like she did, finding another person who could match your enthusiasm was rare. They spent nearly an hour in the bookstore, and Minerva had treated her to the most recent edition of a book titled, _Animagi Imagined_, stating, "If you want to get into the really fun Transfiguration, you simply must read this."

Hermione had graciously accepted, and in return had offered to get them lunch. Now, after a quick perusal of Zonko's, and indulging in their desires in Honeydukes, they were sitting down at a table near the back of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione having just put their orders in a the bar.

Sliding into the booth, Hermione frowned at the expression on Minerva's face, "You alright, Mary?"

Minerva studied her carefully, her hands twitching slightly, itching to fiddle with her hair. "I, I need to tell you something, Hermione. I suppose this isn't the _best _time, but I was thinking while you were placing our orders, and I really need to do this."

Hermione smiled reassuringly, hoping with every pore that Minerva was about to reveal who she actually was. She didn't know how Minerva had lasted this long without telling, but Hermione was going crazy and it had only been an afternoon. "What's up?" she asked innocently.

Minerva closed her eyes tightly, "Hermione, I need you to know that I never intended to deceive you, or spy on you, or anything of that nature. This was all purely accidental, and I was sworn to secrecy. But it seems that we're reaching a point in our friendship where such a secret could cause a serious rift if discovered later, rather than sooner. So I would like to put all of my cards on the table."

"Minerva," Hermione interrupted gently, "Can I make this all a little simpler for you?"

Minerva's eyes widened comically, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh. This was an incredibly stressful moment for the poor woman, and Hermione laughing at her certainly wouldn't help. "You—you know?" she stuttered.

Hermione nodded softly, "I've suspected since the first day—but I talked myself out of my _crazy paranoid delusions_. I only knew for certain after our _adventure_ Thursday night. After a sleepless night of thinking, I was positive."

Minerva paled, an began rambling desperately, "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Hermione. Albus had told me to keep it to myself, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to return to my previous life—please understand, I never meant any harm to you."

Hermione interrupted Minerva quickly, taking her hand, "Minerva, take a breath. It's alright. I'm not upset. I completely understand the need for secrecy, and why you felt you couldn't tell me until now."

Minerva quieted, "Hermione, there is no possible way you can be taking this all so calmly. Your professor has been living with you for nearly two weeks now, she has befriended you—you've told me so much about yourself—how can you possibly not feel betrayed? Why don't you have more questions?"

Hermione thought for a moment, "I suppose that I understand, logically, why you couldn't tell me. And emotionally—I don't think I would have hesitated to tell you any of that originally, not if we had become friends as I had hoped. Obviously, with the barrier between professor and student, I wasn't going to joke with you and talk with you in quite that way—let alone living with you. But I had hoped, after I graduate, that we would be able to be more comfortable with each other. So really, I didn't say anything too terrible. And you knew the truth all along, yet you were just as revealing and comfortable with me, so it isn't as if you were just reading my diary or any other such rubbish."

Minerva shook her head disbelievingly, "I'm sorry," Hermione continued with a grin, "Did my lack of a tantrum upset you?"

"No," Minerva sighed, "I should have expected you to react this way—you always were far to understanding for your own good. I just—I guess I'm surprised. You seem so calm; you aren't even asking me any questions."

"Ah," Hermione said, her face heating slightly, "Well Professor Dumbledore may have answered most of those questions earlier today." Minerva's eyebrows shot up, causing Hermione to chuckle. "I had figured out just about everything on my own, and went to him to confirm my suspicions. Just _in case_ I was incorrect in my assumptions, I didn't want to suddenly unhinge you if you had amnesia, or were time traveling, or were your own niece. Those possibilities were highly unlikely, but I'm not fond of risk taking—at least not when it comes to my friend's health."

"That's why you looked so pale, when I met you in front of the castle? Why you were distracted?" Minerva guessed.

"I had just come from meeting with Professor Dumbledore, and despite having all of my suspicions confirmed, I was still slightly shocked. And concerned for you—concerned that I had made a fool of myself at some point. Just worrying, as I told you."

Minerva studied her hands, attempting to focus on her more calm and logical half. This whole conversation would be far easier if she could find the inner Professor McGonagall, "I'm sorry I've caused you reason for worry, Hermione. I've felt horrible the entire time, but my reclaimed teenage emotions have left me entirely incapable of refusing your friendship. I suppose I very much needed someone to distract me."

Hermione sat back in her seat. "Oh, a distraction, yes," she muttered, closely scrutinizing her fingernails. She should have expected as much—a person in any traumatic situation is likely to seek out comfort wherever they may find it. Hermione had always found books, Harry flying—but she supposed most people sought out other people, friends.

"Hermione," Minerva said firmly, grabbing her hand and interrupting her train of thought. "I didn't mean that I was using your friendship as _only_ a distraction. Only that the necessity of a distraction was what kept my rule-abiding mind at bay, and stopped me from pushing you away. I am _very _thankful for the friendship you have offered, and very much hope you don't rescind it."

Hermione squeezed Minerva's hand slightly, "Thank you Minerva, I appreciate that, and I would _very_ much like to continue things the way they are."

Pulling apart, they both seemed to fidget for a moment before Minerva spoke again, "So do you have any questions? I mean, you are Hermione Granger. You _always_ have questions."

Hermione shrugged slightly, "I suppose I'm just curious about the whole situation. I can't even imagine. What does it feel like for you?"

Minerva thought for a moment, "I haven't quite figured that out myself. Physically, I feel eighteen again. I can fly, and my whole body feels more alive than it has in ages—none of the regular pain which the two wars had brought me, none of the scars. But emotionally, I feel as if I'm losing my mind. One moment, I'm completely rational—like right now. I can speak the way I've spoken for many years and think very clearly. The next I'm swearing up a storm and my hormones are going wild, I'm jumping out of towers on a whim."

Hermione shivered slightly, "Yes—that. Should I assume that had something to do with this?"

Minerva sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know," she groaned. "I mean—yes, I had just met with Albus regarding my _problem_, and had received bad news; but that doesn't explain why I panicked like I did. I've never done anything like that."

"What had Albus told you?" Hermione asked carefully, she had a suspicion, but she wanted Minerva to tell her herself.

"That there is not a cure, and my hope for one being found is unlikely," Minerva answered quietly. "Something in me snapped. Severus had already told me, but I think Albus' confirmation really shook me. I started to panic about my life, my future, my relationships—all of it. It just became too much, and all I could think about was how much I needed to release that energy, I needed to fly. It never even occurred to me that you would follow," she closed her eyes tightly at that point, shaking her head. "I have never hated myself more than when I saw you limping towards me that night, Hermione. I'm so sorry I put you through that."

"It's alright," Hermione tried, but the other which just raised a hand to silence her—the old Professor coming out to play.

"Hermione it _isn't_. I appreciate your forgiveness, more than I can say, but that doesn't make what I did alright. I care about you, and I should have considered your safety when I made that decision. I have to find a way to control my emotions again. I learned as a child, and I can learn again. I can become the woman I was."

"Minerva, it isn't _wrong_ to have emotions. Do I think you should make a habit of plummeting from towers to distract yourself? Of course not! But you're allowed to feel things, and you're allowed to get upset. Minerva, you're entirely world has just been turned upside down—it's entirely logical that you would feel some backlash from that."

"Of course I know that, Hermione," she said with frustration, "But that doesn't mean I can go around letting my emotions control me! I can't _have_ all of these feelings. It's not appropriate, it's not right! I need to find the woman I've been for the last 50 years, and be that woman again."

"Be alone?" Hermione interrupted, her eyes widening at her own gumption.

"What?" Minerva asked, her voice dangerously low.

Hermione took a breath, steeling herself. "Be alone?" Hermione repeated, "You have a very small handful of friends, you _never_ leave the castle, you rarely do anything for _fun_."

"Hermione Granger, you know _nothing_ about my life up until two weeks ago," she snapped, her eyes blazing.

"Am I wrong?" Hermione asked seriously, her eyes never waivering from Minerva's.

Minerva deflated slightly, and she ran a fidgeting hand through her hair. "No, you're not wrong. You never seem to be wrong."

"I didn't realize that was such a bad thing," Hermione frowned.

"It's not—it's just infuriating. Nineteen year olds aren't supposed to be able to teach me anything."

Hermione smirked slightly, "Well, I am older than you."

Rolling her eyes, Minerva looked back at Hermione, "I can't just let myself go, Hermione. Having fun is one thing. Today—today has been wonderful. And playing Quidditch? I've missed that desperately. But being a teenager means having whims, you know that. The sudden urge to have a midnight adventure, or to shout at a professor," she said pointedly. "It means unceremoniously breaking down in tears, and a raging temper, and hormones."

"And other than being mildly embarrassing, what's all that wrong with experiencing those things?"

"Hermione, there are two types of people in my world. One, my colleagues—people who are at least twenty years older than me, most of them closer to forty years older than me. People whom I have far too much respect for to allow my Scottish temper to attack. People whose reputations will be shattered if they are discovered to be close friends with a student.

"And then there are my students, or previous students. Those are people whom it feels entirely improper to befriend, and who would be terrified to befriend me even if it _wasn't _inappropriate. I'm entirely aware of the icy personae most of my students perceive in me. And goodness knows I can't allow my hormones to run away with me—having a crush on a student? How can I _possibly_ live with myself?"

Hermione paused for a moment, thinking deeply. "I think that you're complicating things, Minerva."

The professor laughed softly, "Am I?"

"I think that while you are in school, it would be complicated. But that's just eight months. At that point, people will find out who you are, and they will move past it. No one will think wrongly of your colleagues for being in contact with someone whom they've been friends with for so many years, and these emotions you loath so much will cause your friends to forget that they were ever scared of you," Hermione said confidently, "You have me, already. And Harry and Ron think you're absolutely brilliant. They'll be teaching you the secret handshake any day now."

Minerva chuckled to herself, "Ron is going to be mortified."

Hermione tilted her head in question, but then burst into a fit of laughter when she realized what Minerva was referring to, "Oh Merlin, he's going to go mad."

Minerva smiled, "I really didn't do anything to encourage him, I have no idea why he would have thought that was a good idea."

"It's Ron," Hermione shrugged, "You have boobs and like Quidditch—you therefore _must_ be his soulmate."

Minerva gagged slightly, "Yes, _that_ is going to be an odd part of reclaiming this age. Most of the interested partners are going to be my previous students.

Hermione willed her complexion to stay its customary pale color, "Minerva, just be patient. I'm sure you'll find the balance you're looking for soon—but you've only been living this life for two weeks. You can't expect yourself to be entirely comfortable quite yet."

Minerva nodded silently, her eyes focused on the grain of the wooden table. "I really do appreciate your being there for me, Hermione. It certainly isn't your responsibility, but I'm appreciative none the less."

A waitress stopped briefly, setting their food in front of them before disappearing just as swiftly. Hermione took Minerva's hand from across the table. "Minerva, you don't need to thank me. Just know that I'm here—and that I care. As long as you want me."

Minerva nodded again, a small smile peeking out from behind her hair.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your reviews so far! You're giving me so much to think on! (Honestly, I've made changes here and there as of received your reviews, so keep them coming!) **

**Also if you like this, check out my other Minerva/Hermione story, "After the War", I've recently done a major overhaul to the beginning and would love to here what you all think! **

**No matter what, thank you for reading this one, and I'd love to hear from you!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay in posting another chapter. I had realized I would be lacking in time this week, hence posting so many chapters last weekend, but I didn't know I would get quite THIS busy. My family just adopted another furry friend, and she has been stealing all of my attention. Here is Chapter 7 for all of you, and hopefully I will be more on my game this upcoming week. I have so many ideas, I just have to write them all out!**

* * *

****"Minerva," a voice whispered into her subconscious, "Minerva, wake up."

Minerva groggily squinted at the shape kneeling in front of her, and then to the small clock on her nightstand. "Hermione?" she whispered, her voice cracking slightly, "It's 5 am, what's the matter?"

Hermione looked momentarily unsure, but shook her head quickly, shaking the uncertainty away with it. "Sorry, but this really is the only time we can do this. Can you wake up and get dressed? We have a bit of early morning trouble to cause."

Minerva sat up slightly, "I really shouldn't."

"Trust me," Hermione smiled, dashing into the bathroom quickly. Minerva shook her head, but got out of bed nonetheless, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. She was confident that she _shouldn't_ be taking part in whatever Hermione was planning, and yet here she was—getting dressed at five o'clock in the morning.

Hermione danced back into the room, purse in hand, and a smile engulfing her face when she saw Minerva dressed. "Come with me," she whispered, taking Minerva's hand and pulling her towards the staircase.

Minerva tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest as Hermione gently gripped her hand and led her from their room. She didn't ask any questions until they were in the common room, where it was unlikely they would be overheard. Luckily, Hermione stopped there before moving on. "What's going on, Hermione? And why couldn't it happen during the day?"

Hermione grinned and pulled a small bag from her purse, handing it to Minerva. At the witch's blank expression, Hermione rolled her eyes, "I had thought you would guess."

Minerva smirked slightly, "Sorry dear, my guessing skills are a bit rough this time of day."

"It's floo powder," Hermione said with a smile.

"But floo powder doesn't work in—"

"Hogwarts, I know," Hermione interrupted. "Only the special formula which professors use to get from one office to another, or transport themselves in or out of the castle quickly."

Minerva nodded, "Exactly."

"This _is_ that particular type of floo powder," Hermione said simply, a smile lighting up her face. Minerva's eyebrows shot up.

"Hermione, you could get into _so _much trouble for this. Where did you get it?"

Hermione blushed deeply, "I actually—well, I found out how to make it. I had experimented with regular Floo powder before Harry, Ron, and I went on the run, but we never ended up needing it—weren't near very many fire places, were we? It didn't actually require too many alterations to the original recipe, a pinch of powdered bicorn horn, a dash of dirt from the grounds, and a spoonful of ash from the Headmaster's fireplace. I've been working on it this whole week, ever since I found out about you for sure. I did some research, and it wasn't too hard once I read up on the principle of the thing."

Minerva shook her head disbelievingly, "I would say that's impossible—but it's you. So it's entirely possible. I can't believe this."

"You can understand why I had to wake you up for this."

"I suppose," Minerva whispered, "But where exactly do you plan on going?"

"Just across the castle," Hermione answered with a smile. "I thought you would appreciate getting some of your own things back. I know it's been too dangerous until now—but with the Floo powder, we could pop in and out without causing any alarm."

A wide smile bloomed across Minerva's face. She had missed her things. She wasn't an overly materialistic woman, but she cherished the few objects she did own. Her books, a brooch from her mother, her old worn blanket. They were small comforts which she desperately craved.

She threw her arms around a surprised Hermione, "Thank you," she whispered.

Hermione sighed lightly, "Anytime."

"Do you know how it works?" Minerva asked, not wanting to leave the girl confusedly standing in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Hermione shrugged, "I went to the kitchens, as a test for it. Seemed to work fine."

Minerva shook her head, "The Kitchens aren't password protected," she clarified, "My rooms are. It works much like regular floo powder, but rather than stating _where_ you are going, you state the password—more of a nickname for the rooms, really. That way people can't simply show up whenever they please. If you simply state _McGonagall Chambers_ you will be able to talk through the floo, but not actually pass through. By stating the name _Athena's Sanctuary_, you will be brought straight into my sitting room."

Hermione nodded, "That makes sense. Are you sure you don't mind me joining you? I could always wait here."

Minerva laughed as she fisted a handful of powder, "Don't worry, Hermione." Throwing it into the fire she watched as the flames flickered emerald green, and stepped in quickly. With a quick wave, she spoke the password and stepped into her home.

She straightened up, and dusted herself off, staring around the room longingly. As much as she enjoyed living with Hermione, she did miss having her own space away from the other students. She waved her wand quickly and the candles burst to life engulfing her in a warm light.

"Wow," came a voice behind her, and she smiled. "This is beautiful."

"Thank you," she responded quietly. Minerva had always known that Hermione would appreciate her sitting room—in fact, even as her student, Minerva had considered letting Hermione peruse her shelves, but decided against it. It wouldn't have been proper.

Now the girl stood slack-jawed behind her, staring longingly at the shelf-lined walls. While most professors chose to have a simple sitting room, Minerva had completely abandoned any such conventional notions. Upon moving in to the castle at 20 years old, Minerva had transfigured all of the sitting room walls into bookshelves. She had just under two-thousand books at this point, and they all stared at you as you stepped through the Floo. There was a deep red sofa settled next to the fire, and several dark wooden tables surrounding it.

"You live in a library," Hermione said, her tone oddly breathy.

"I've always found myself more drawn to literature than people," Minerva said, blushing deeply. Her book collection was something she was enormously proud of, and yet she kept hearing Hermione's voice ringing in her head from the weekend before, _And alone?_ It was true, Minerva had hidden herself away behind her books and her stern features, and the evidence was very clearly laid out for Hermione to see.

Hermione seemed to sense her discomfort, because she approached quietly from behind, placing a hand on Minerva's elbow, "I understand completely," she said. "I've always dreamed of a room like this—ever since I was a little girl."

Minerva shrugged slightly, "They needed me."

Hermione grinned, "Did they now?"

Minerva nodded seriously, "Of course. The great Minerva McGonagall couldn't _possibly_ have a regular human quirk. The only explanation is that she felt these books would be somehow endangered by _not_ living in her rooms."

"I'm sure," Hermione laughed. "Though I don't think that they'll fit in your current room."

Minerva sighed, "Unfortunately not. I'll grab a couple of my favorites, and leave the rest. Grab a book and make yourself comfortable."

* * *

Hermione had just finished reading of D'Artagnan's initial meeting with the musketeers when Minerva flopped down on the seat next to her, groaning and burying her face in her hands.

Closing the book gently, Hermione looked at her friend, waiting for an explanation. Minerva started several times before seeming to find any words. "Nothing—Nothing fits," she said finally, causing Hermione to furrow her eyebrows in confusion. Minerva sighed loudly, "It's all—It's all my old life, nothing fits in now."

Hermione frowned, "I'm sure that's not true."

"I have a closet full of clothing I can't wear anymore," Minerva frowned. "All the wrong sizes, and styles, all things which would make an eighteen year old look absolutely ridiculous."

"Minerva, you're much more than your clothes, you know that."

"I know," she sighed, "But this whole place is just full of my old life. There are potion vials to help with the aches and pains, extra pairs of glasses, family heirlooms which I'm not allowed to carry or wear—because no one can know who I am. I have all of these _things_ and I can't use any of it anymore. It's not that they are important, it's just that each item is a tiny stab telling me that I'm not myself anymore."

Hermione frowned again, "But you _are_ yourself. You're the same woman you were three weeks ago—you just look a bit different."

"A bit," Minerva snorted. "I saw a picture I have hanging in the hallway of Albus and I several years ago—I can barely recognize myself. I look ridiculous now—I look _old_ then, and I can't look into the mirror without getting a headache."

"You look beautiful," Hermione said quietly.

"I _don't_ look beautiful, and I don't look like me. Frumpy Hag that she may be—I want to be her again."

"You have _never_ looked like a frumpy hag, Minerva McGonagall," Hermione snapped. "I understand why you're upset, but I'm not going to sit here and allow you to insult one of my closest friends, nor will I allow you to insult a woman I have greatly admired for many years. _Now,_ you are lovely and young and mischievous and brilliant. You are painfully attractive, and anyone who wouldn't be attracted to your legs, certainly couldn't say no to your mind.

"_Then_ you were beautiful and elegant and respectable. You were formidable, caring, courageous and protective. You were a stunning witch and your mind could ensnare any person you choose," Hermione finished quietly, "You were, and you are, all of those things. So stop putting yourself down, and stop tearing yourself in half. You aren't either Minerva or Mary—you're both."

"Hermione, I appreciate you're trying to help—but please don't patronize me. I know who I was, and I know who I am, and I know the flaws of both of those people."

Hermione shook her head, and set her book on the side table. Turning to face Minerva entirely, she took her face in her hands, causing Minerva's eyes to widen. "You overthink things. You're temperamental—and when angry, have the ability to be cruel. You're vain in regards to your hair. You expect too much out of your students at times—but not enough at others. You're ridiculously competitive, far too hard on yourself, and you seem to have the goal of emotions similar to an automaton. You leave your socks on the floor, and apparently dog-ear the pages of your books," Hermione said, frowing towards the book in her hand, "_Those_ are your flaws. They exist. You are also _everything_ I just told you. You are strong, and intelligent, and beautiful. Do you hear me?"

In truth, Minerva heard very little of what Hermione was saying. She heard it—much like you can hear a train approaching from miles away. Later on, she would remember everything that Hermione had said, and it would mean something to her. It would fill her heart and stretch it painfully. But at that exact moment in time—all she heard was the thrumming of Hermione's pulse from her hands and wrists as they firmly held her face in place.

She nodded at Hermione, their eyes never separating.

Hermione pulled her hands away, but not before tucking a stray hair behind Minerva's ear, and whispering, "You're perfect, Minerva. Absolutely perfect."

She then coughed awkwardly, stood up quickly, and walked away, throwing a dash of Floo Powder into the fireplace and stepping through once more.

* * *

Hermione sunk down onto the floor of their bathroom—she seemed to be spending far too much time in bathrooms lately, but she couldn't help it. Their bathroom was the only place she could go where she knew Minerva wouldn't follow.

Hermione reached over and turned on the shower, but stayed sitting against the wall. Hopefully, with the shower running, Minerva wouldn't ask questions.

She knew she was being dramatic, crouched on the floor, tears running down her face—hell, she _loathed_ the cliché of it all. But damn it, she was upset—and wasn't that allowed? Hermione wasn't a dumb girl, and she had known the minute that she started speaking that she would say too much—she knew that Minerva would know. How could she not?

Hermione had fallen for Mary—and then Minerva—and she had fallen hard. She knew that Minerva couldn't feel the same—wouldn't allow herself to feel the same. She knew that despite all of the boundaries they had broken, Minerva could never cross that final line.

She was Professor McGonagall, somewhere in there, and none of the hormones or confusion was going to change that.

Leaning her head against the wall, she sighed deeply. She needed to gain some level of control over her emotions. As it was, Minerva _had_ to know how she felt, but Hermione was convinced that she could still hold on to their friendship—she just needed to gain some control. She didn't regret the things she said, Minerva needed to hear them, needed to understand (if not believe). But she wasn't going to let that one explosion of emotion destroy their friendship.

Hermione took a deep breath, allowing herself one final moment. One moment of realizing how absolutely _perfect_ they would be for each other. One moment of appreciation for the woman's body, laugh, and smile. One moment remembering the jolt which shot through her arm every time she touched her. She appreciated it all, and let the last clichéd tears fall—then she stood up.

Washing her face she let the mask fall into place, and as she took one deep breath she felt it lock there. Hermione Granger—good friend, and that's all.

* * *

It was nearly time for class—or so she guessed, and yet Minerva had yet to move from her shocked silence on the couch. She didn't know how she was going to get back to Gryffindor tower at this point, not without being noticed, but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything—she couldn't move.

As soon as the Floo had activated, Hermione's words had flooded around Minerva. Every beautiful, articulate, word—she shouldn't have been surprised. When was Hermione likely to say anything less than perfect?

When she had started talking, Minerva hadn't been searching for complements or reassurance, she was honestly just upset. She wanted to find words for the emotions which seemed to be strangling her, find words for the fear and grief. What Hermione had given her, was more than she could have imagined.

It was obvious that Hermione had meant every word—that she really did see all of that in Minerva, young and old. And it was obvious from the look in Hermione's eyes that she had meant far more than any of those words had intended.

Hermione may not have said it, but with her pulse hammering against Minerva's skin, and her eyes glowing in the dim lighting, Minerva could hear Hermione just as clearly as if she had screamed it. She loved her.

Hermione loved her. She loved her as an 18 year old, a 65 year old, and as anything in between.

Minerva didn't even know if Hermione _realized_ that she was in love with her—but there it was, and Minerva had no idea what to do about it. This was Hermione Granger—19 years old and her favorite student. And yet she couldn't pull up an image like she had with Ron—sure she clearly remembered the bushy haired girl from 1st year, standing in a bathroom covered in water and troll snot—but that was a hazy image.

What she saw clearly when she thought of Hermione was the terrifying woman who dueled Bellatrix Lestrange the previous Spring, and the rain drenched goddess who held her as she sobbed in the mud. What she saw was a gold jumper and leather boots, a beaming smile, and the ability to talk with her—_really _talk with her.

As horrified as Minerva was with herself, she couldn't seem to make herself _not_ think of Hermione as something far different from a student. A friend—a woman.

Minerva shook her head quickly—she had been having this argument with herself for hours now, and it didn't seem to be ending. What was she supposed to do?

At 65 years old, Minerva had never found someone. Sure, there had been short relationships, and honest attempts. She had tried desperately to settle for someone kind and good. But she had never been able to, not really. She was stubborn and impatient, and she was entirely unwilling to spend time with someone who wouldn't live up to her needs—and what she needed was intelligence.

But not the dull droning type of intelligence which she was accustomed to—not Ravenclaw intelligence. She needed Gryffindor intelligence. Passionate, argumentative, ambitious, arrogant intelligence. Intelligence which can be quickly thrown away at the sign of a good adventure. She needed someone who knew the risks, but was willing to ignore them.

Amelia Bones had come close, many years ago. She was certainly brilliant enough—and she didn't fear much of anything. But she had found Minerva to be reckless and temperamental, and Minerva found her to be predictable and passionless.

There was never a perfect fit—until Hermione.

Minerva groaned loudly and shoved a pillow against her face. She had _feelings _for a student.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your reviews. If you have a moment, please let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: First and foremost, I'm sorry this is being updated a bit slower, though I do seem to finally be working through my writers block. I assure you, this story has not and will not be abandoned. That isn't my style.**

**On to the update! I just want to squeal with how excited I am to give you this chapter. It bounces around a bit, because how could life at the Burrow be anything _other_ than hectic and bouncy? But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Also, forgive the excessive swearing in this chapter. I generally support using other words, but every now and then profanity is just necessary! I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!**

* * *

Minerva lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking.

It had been over a month since that morning in her old chambers, and things had been… different. She had missed all of her morning classes that day, only having been able to sneak out of her chambers during the lunch period, and earned herself a week's worth of detention for it—that hadn't been humiliating at all.

When she had left her sitting room that day, she had been decided; she was going to talk to Hermione. She would prove her true Gryffindor bravery and tell the young woman exactly how she felt—past life be damned, she wanted a chance at happiness, and Hermione seemed to be that chance.

But Hermione hadn't seen her for the rest of that day, not until dinner, and by then everything was different. Hermione was still friendly, still bursting with energy and curiosity, and their conversations were as scintillating as ever—but Hermione was somehow removed.

She didn't touch Minerva anymore. Not a guiding hand or a hug. She didn't even allow their fingers to brush if she lent a quill. There was a constant six-inch distance between them. At first, Minerva had even wondered if Hermione had cast some sort of charm to deflect Minerva. She stepped away from Minerva far too perfectly for it to be anything other than deliberate.

She also avoided whispering. If she needed to say something quietly, she would write it down, rather than lean forward to whisper.

All of this, Minerva probably could have handled, but Hermione had even stopped making eye contact. It was nearly imperceptible—Minerva was confident that Harry or Ron, or even Neville, wouldn't have noticed the small fact. But the miniscule difference between her eyes, and her inner nose, was enormous to Minerva, and absolutely infuriating.

For the first time since meeting Hermione, including as her sixty-five year old self, she could feel their age difference. Hermione had obviously discovered her own feelings, and panicked. Hence the unnaturally distant behavior. She respected Hermione's attempts to remain purely platonic, but this was simply ludicrous. She was making their friendship feel forced and awkward.

Minerva had of course tried to talk to her, but Hermione had just brushed her off. Making excuses about a quick run to the library, or the need for a shower, or having to send a letter. Eventually Minerva just gave up; obviously the young woman wasn't equipped to handle her own emotions at the moment, so she backed off.

Still—she wanted to shake Hermione and tell her to stop worrying. It was nearly Christmas, and she just wanted for things to return to normal. She was hopeful that after the holidays, and some time apart, that things could do just that.

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, perhaps Hermione just needed a break.

Just as she began to drift off, Hermione came into the room, causing Minerva to sit up quickly—nearly falling off the bed.

"Alright there?" Hermione asked chuckling, and Minerva could only smiled awkwardly and nod. _Why was she so incapable of formulating words around this woman?_

Hermione placed her bag next to her dresser and smiled up at Minerva—eyes twinkling ever so slightly to the right of hers. "Ron wanted me to ask you about something."

"Oh?"

"Well Harry and I are going to be spending Christmas with the Weasely's, as we usually do, and Molly has extended an invitation to you," Hermione explained. At Minerva's apparently confused expression, she elaborated, "Apparently Ron has told her all about his new friend _Mary_, and Molly told him that he is to make sure you come with us for Christmas. She's worried about a nice girl like you alone for your first holiday after your parents."

"Oh," Minerva repeated.

Hermione shuffled her feet slightly, "I mean, you don't _have_ to come—but it could be nice to spend some time away from the school."

"It would," Minerva said carefully. "But what if Molly and Arthur recognize me?"

Hermione shrugged, "It seems unlikely—I mean, you look so different, but even if they did recognize you, you know they wouldn't tell anyone. They would ask you, or Dumbledore, about it and move on."

Minerva nodded. On one hand, she adored the Weasely's and was sure that spending Christmas with them would be wonderful—especially compared to being alone at the castle. On the other hand—Hermione.

Minerva cringed as she heard her subconscious piping up, _You can't spend the rest of your life worrying about her. If she's willing to step up—grand. Otherwise, move on and enjoy life. _

Minerva nodded silently—for once she agreed. She wanted Hermione to become comfortable. She wanted Hermione. But she couldn't keep tip-toeing around like this. She wanted to be a part of something, and this was just the opportunity she needed.

"Okay," she answered with a smile, "I'll come along."

Hermione positively glowed as she smiled at Minerva's response, but then she seemed to check herself and dim her smile to a mere polite grin. "I'm glad," she said with a nod, and jogged down the stairs to inform Ron.

Minerva flopped back in her bed again—this was going to be an odd Christmas.

* * *

Minerva hadn't been in the house for more than five minutes when Molly managed to strategically get her alone—she should have known better than to think she could keep anything from the mother of seven. Handing her a cutting board and a bowl full of carrots, she was told "Chop." So she did.

After several minutes in silence, Molly smiled pleasantly at her, "So Minerva, dear, how have you been? Anything new happening?" Minerva choked painfully on the carrot she had just tossed in her mouth.

Wheezing for breath, she grinned, "Oh, nothing much, Molly. I've just been turned into an eighteen year old girl. But other than that—same ol', same ol'."

Molly let out a laugh, and hugged Minerva tightly, "You poor dear, I'm assuming none of the children know—they can be so oblivious at times. I, of course, recognized you immediately—Arthur too. But then again, we went to school when you weren't much older than you are now, so it would be easier to see the resemblance."

"Only Hermione realized, but I suppose that was unavoidable. I'm living with her, for one, but even if I wasn't—it's Hermione, there's no keeping a secret with her around."

"I should have guessed as much," Molly clucked, "But none of the boys know?"

"Certainly not," Minerva frowned, "This isn't something we can have getting around, now is it?"

Molly shook her head, "And how are you coping, dear? I can't even imagine my reaction if I was suddenly eighteen again. I'm sure there are positives, but all in all—"

Minerva groaned, "It's terrible. My temper is completely uncontrollable, as are my emotions. Even my hormones," she confided with a cringe.

"Oh, that would be bothersome," Molly said sympathetically.

"You have no idea," Minerva muttered under her breath. "I _am _enjoying being able to play quidditch again, that's an unexpected joy. And Hermione is simply wonderful to spend time with—I don't suppose I could have formed such a friendship with our age difference, and my being her professor and all."

Molly smiled, an odd look in her eyes, "I always thought that she was practically a miniaturized you."

"Without the quidditch," Minerva added.

"Or your propensity for blowing things up when she gets angry," Molly chuckled.

Minerva scowled at her, "That only happened once."

"Tell that to Severus' front door," she snickered, causing Minerva to laugh as well.

"Oh Molly, I'm so glad that you recognized me. I couldn't _tell _you, but I knew that once you discovered who I was, you wouldn't hesitate to continue our friendship. It's nice to talk to someone who knows both sides of me."

Molly smiled warmly, "I'm here anytime."

"Thank you," Minerva said genuinely.

"Just give yourself a break occasionally, Min. If I know you, you're probably tearing yourself in six different directions right now—just exhale and let yourself live," the mother advised.

"I know, Molly. I _am_ trying. It's just—difficult," Minerva sighed. She wanted to talk to Molly about Hermione—to tell her how the emotions were confusing the hell out of her, and tearing her a part. She wanted to tell her that she was falling in love with a girl who had always just been a particularly bright student—but she couldn't. Molly could understand a lot of things, and would probably understand that better than most, but Minerva wasn't willing to risk a negative judgment. At the moment, she just really needed Molly in her life—even if that meant _not_ sharing everything.

Just as she finished chopping the carrots, Ginny, Harry, and Ron came bounding in from the garden—enchanted snowballs following them, courtesy of a snow covered Hermione, who came stomping in behind them.

She laughed loudly at the maddened look on the brunette's face, "What happened to you?" Minerva giggled.

Hermione gave her a dirty look, "They decided that I looked _hot_."

"You should take it as a complement, Hermione!" Ginny called out, shooting a wink at the older girl.

Hermione stuck her tongue out, "You will pay for that Ginevra Weasely!" she shouted, sending an enormous ball of snow careening into Ginny's face. The young red head coughed on the snow for a moment, before she began muttering her own spell under her breath.

But before she could finish, Molly was shouting over the brood, "Outside, all of you!" With a final smile towards Molly, Minerva grabbed her coat and shot out the door with her newfound friends.

* * *

After Molly's discovery, she really shouldn't have been surprised when, less than two hours later, Minerva found her back pressed against the bathroom door, two identical red-head's leaning against the opposing wall and effectively trapping her in. Less than twenty-four hours, and they had already captured her. She should have guessed as much.

"Fred—George," she greeted, "Er… lovely to see you."

"M&M!" they chorused cheerfully, grabbing her from under her arms and pulling her up the stairs, and into their room.

"Fred, George! Put me down this instant!" She screeched.

"Not nearly as intimidating these days, is she Forge?"

"Not at all, Gred—she's down right puny."

"How dare you!" Minerva shouted, stomping hard on each ones foot, while shoving them both onto one of the beds, "I may not be as _formidable _as I once was—thanks to you might I add—but I'm also not bound to refrain from hitting you!" She smacked each of them firmly on the back of the head.

"Truce!" The cried together, and Fred continued, "We weren't really trying to upset you, Professor, we were just joking, honest—just wanted to get you alone to see how you're fairing."

Minerva glared at them for one more moment, before allowing herself to relax. She crossed her arms over her chest, pouting slightly, "Reminding me of how _puny_ I am isn't the best way to start a conversation, for future notice."

"Sorry," George said, looking properly ashamed.

Minerva sat down on a chair in front of their desk, folding her legs in on herself, "In regards to your questions, I'm doing fine. I certainly miss my old life, but I believe I'm settling in as well as can be expected."

Fred snorted, and glanced at George, "She looks like a duck, and she walks like a duck—but she sounds like a Professor."

Minerva laughed, "Sorry, I go back and forth. There are time when Hermione can't even seem to tell that I'm not a genuine eighteen year old."

"Such as when you're insanely jumping out of Gryffindor tower?" George asked with a smirk, causing Minerva to cringe.

"Yes—that would count."

"So do any of them know about you?" Fred asked curiously, "I mean, you look almost completely different."

"Hermione knows," Minerva started.

"Shocker," George interrupted.

"As if you could have kept it from her." Fred continued.

"But none of the rest are aware," Minerva finished.

"We guessed as much," Fred snickered, causing George to smack him lightly, "What? She deserves fair warning!"

George gave Fred a dirty look, but grinned nonetheless, "Ickle Ronnikins seems to have developed quite the crush on you," he explained. "We've tried to dissuade him in our letters, but he insists that you're just _shy_ and that's why you haven't agreed to go to Hogsmeade with him yet."

Minerva groaned and rolled her eyes, "What is wrong with your brother?"

"Genetics?" Fred offered.

"Couldn't be," George responded, "Look how well adjusted we are!"

"I told him I wasn't interested—I made it _very_ clear."

The twins just laughed, "This is Ron—he isn't going to get it," George said between breaths.

"He'll leave you alone as soon as you start dating some other bloke, but until then…" Fred supplied.

"Good Luck!" the chorused, laughing again.

"He would be completely mortified if he knew who you _really_ were. I mean, it wouldn't matter to us—oh newest Grffindor Goddess," Fred flirted.

"Certainly not!" George agreed.

"A gorgeous bird is a gorgeous bird—and being able to fly" Fred winked.

"Well that's just the whole package isn't it!" George said with a grin.

"But for Ron…" they said together.

"He's bloody terrified of you!" George finished.

"You two are an enormous headache to speak with—you know that, don't you?" Minerva snapped. "I miss the days when I could make you quiver."

Fred snorted again, as George winked, "I'm sure you could make us quiver again, Minnie my love!"

"Ugh," Minerva groaned, standing up. "I'm going to find Hermione—I need some civilized conversation."

"You wound us!" they laughed, as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

"This is a _bad_ idea," Hermione scolded, trying to control her tone. It was becoming harder and harder as Harry sat in the corner laughing at her.

Ron reached higher, trying to pin the offensive branch to the ceiling—obviously having forgotten he owned a wand again. "It's a great idea, Mione! I can see it now, a few butterbeers, the Christmas spirit lightening her heart, then '_Oh, is that mistletoe'" _he said in a dimwitted falsetto, "Then I'll show up and kiss her, and she will be forced to admit that she finds me irresistible."

"That's completely ludicrous, Ronald! She's likely to slap you!" Hermione moaned.

"Come on, Hermione. Just because _you're _never interested in any fun, doesn't mean Mary isn't. I mean, she's cool—she's smart like you, but she also likes Quidditch, and is bloody gorgeous!"

"And what about that makes you think she'd want to kiss _you_," Hermione huffed.

He laughed patronizingly at her, "It's obvious isn't it? The two best Quidditch players…" Harry coughed loudly, and Ron's ears turned red, "Okay, Harry and I are tied, but still."

Hermione shook her head, "I tried to warn you, don't ask me to do the healing charms when she's done with you." Hermione stomped off into the sitting room, trying desperately to ignore the babbling red-head behind her.

Throwing herself on the couch, Hermione hugged her knees to herself. Ron was obviously an idiot, that could be the only excuse. Couldn't he see that Minerva had absolutely _no_ interest in him?

"_Can't you see that Minerva has absolutely no interest in _you_." _ The voice in her head whispered. She shook her head firmly, that wasn't the same thing. She wasn't going after Minerva—she was just being a good friend.

"_Though things have been a bit _off _recently, haven't they?"_ the voice asked, causing Hermione to cringe. That was true, Minerva seemed to be acting oddly around her—ever since that day. Obviously she had felt uncomfortable with the way Hermione had acted.

"What is it you always say, Hermione? You're thinking so loudly I can hear you in the other room?" Hermione's head snapped up, as Harry walked in and sat down beside her, "Why don't you just tell Ron that she's a lesbian and you're in love with her?"

Hermione laughed at his obvious statement, "It isn't quite that simple, Harry."

"Oh?" he asked, smirking slightly, "Please, explain."

"For one, I don't know that she _wants_ anyone to know that she's a lesbian—I don't even know how you know that."

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it? I mean, she isn't interested in _Ron_, she must hate men," he joked, causing Hermione to swat at him.

"You're an arse," Hermione laughed, "Also; I'm _not_ in love with her."

"Sure, I'll pretend that I believe that."

Hermione huffed, ignoring his statement. "_And_, she doesn't feel that way about me, so it doesn't matter _what_ I'm feeling. All I know is that she isn't interested in Ron—and I've told him that. It isn't my fault if he doesn't want to listen."

Harry shook his head, "I suppose that's true—but how exactly are you going to react if he kisses her?"

Hermione's face turned red at the thought, "I will sit very still, be very quiet, and enjoy watching her hex him _very_ much." Harry shook his head, laughter bubbling out. "Well I'm glad _one _of us is amused."

"I'm telling you, she likes you. I don't know what has convinced you otherwise—but she's crazy about you."

Hermione shook her head, Harry couldn't understand—not without knowing the full truth. Whatever messages Harry thought he was seeing, he was mistaken, because Minerva could never see her that way. "We'll see, Harry. We'll see."

Standing up, Hermione made her way back into the kitchen, intent on making a run for the back yard. Despite the snow, she could use a walk. Just as she walked through the doorway, she found Ron redfaced and arguing with Charlie, while Minerva stood silent and unseen on the stairway.

"Dammit, Charlie, stay the hell away from her!" Ron shouted, seemingly forgetting how small the burrow was, and how _everyone _would soon be able to hear him. "I like this girl, and you don't even know her. She's _mine._ Find someone else to go after! Besides, she's eight years younger than you! That's creepy!"

Minerva snorted quietly on the stairs, and Hermione couldn't help but smirk.

"I'm not going after anyone. I was just saying that your ridiculous mistletoe plan could work just as well for any of us, couldn't it? And I'll tell you right now, I'm not going to shove her away if I suddenly end up under some mistletoe with her. She's a pretty bird…"

"She's not _a_ pretty bird, she's _my_ pretty bird! You—you should promise me that you won't go after her!"

"Enough!" Minerva snapped from the staircase, causing both men's heads to snap towards her. Hermione cringed, this wasn't going to end well for either of the Weasely men. Minerva stepped into the light, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Ron was about to realize her secret. Minerva stood, arms crossed and lips pursed, with a distinctly _McGonagall _look about her.

"I am _not_ a bird—pretty or otherwise," she snapped, facing Charlie. Then turning towards Ron, "And when looking for men to snog, I don't generally look towards those who are possessive, nor to those who must resort to trapping a girl under some miserable nargle infested plant."

Both men tried to interrupt with fruitless apologies, but she silenced them both with a hand in the air, "Last but not least—and I feel I need to make myself dreadfully clear on this matter, seeing that all of you Weasely men seem to have completely ignored your father's charming example as to how to woo women—I will not be being _snogged_ by any of you. For one, you're acting about as charming as those gnomes which infest your garden, and second of all, I'm a lesbian! So unless you're feeling particularly in the mood to disconnect yourselves from your cocks, you don't have a bloody chance," she thundered.

With a swish of her robes, she stormed into the back yard, muttering a warming charm as the door slammed behind her. Hermione just shook her head at the two stunned men. "You're both lucky your mother isn't home, she would have slapped you."

"I didn't know she was listening," Ron defended.

"That doesn't change how entirely terrible your conversation was," Hermione snapped, and then shook her head disapprovingly. "And Charlie, I thought you would have known better."

Charlie blushed darkly, "Sorry, Hermione. Please apologize for me—if you see her first, I wasn't actually planning on trying anything—Ron was just annoying me, so I decided to press his buttons a bit."

Ron grumbled under his breath, and then shot a glare at Hermione, "Did you know? That she's a—that she likes—I mean, that's she's…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Yes Ron, I knew that she's gay."

His faced turned beet red again, "You didn't tell me!"

Hermione's expression became frigid, "I _told _you she wasn't interested, that should have been enough. You were pigheaded and blind, don't blame me for that."

"But you could have told me!" He argued.

Hermione drew herself up to her full height, her words biting, "I could have told you all of her secrets because you weren't dedicated enough to have any conversations with her which didn't involve Quidditch? I'm sorry, should I be just spouting off my friends' secrets left and right? I didn't realize that's how it worked," She stepped slightly closer to Ron, her voice dangerously low. "Living with someone in a tent for a year is a good way to learn their secrets."

Ron paled, obviously knowing what she was referring to. Other than Bill, his family didn't know that he had abandoned her and Harry that Christmas—he had begged them never to tell. "I'm sorry," he croaked, "I didn't think of it that way—I was just frustrated. I'm—I'm sorry."

Hermione nodded, "Be sure to apologize to her as well, Ron."

Hermione stepped around the pair, and exited out the back doors as well. She had planned on taking a walk anyways, hadn't she? Casting a quick warming charm, she followed the footprints ahead of her.

She walked through the back yard, and past the garden, headed into the orchard which was nestled just beyond. In a clearing ahead, she could hear frustrated breaths and the sound of shattering glass.

Glancing around a tree, she finally got view of Minerva. The young woman's eyes were dark with fury, and she was shivering, her warming charm having obviously warn off quickly—magic had the tendency to do that, when high emotions came into play. She waved her wand around her like an Orchestral conductor, creating ice sculptures from water which she spouted through the air. As quickly as she created them, they seemed to explode, shards of ice shooting in every direction.

Hermione had seen Minerva do magic, of course she had. But she had never seen Minerva like _this_. This was beautiful and terrifying all at once, it was like watching a piece of music come to life, like watching an epiphany occur.

She was wild, passionate, and furiously angry.

"Minerva," Hermione whispered, knowing the witch would hear her—but still partially afraid.

Minerva's eyes flashed towards Hermione momentarily, and then the witch threw a furious spell towards one of her creations, causing it to shatter to the ground, "65 bloody years!" She shouted as the ice crunched around her. Shooting off another spell, she destroyed a second creation. She screamed as the ice shattered around her, "Sixty-Five. Mother. Fucking. YEARS!"

Tears fell from her eyes as she screamed this time, and suddenly all six of the still-standing sculptures exploded, Hermione ducked to avoid the shards of ice. "I kept that damn secret for sixty-five years," she cried as she crumpled into the snow, "And I let it out after only a _week_ of knowing you, and now several months later I'm screaming it! These damn emotions, and these damn hormones, and my _damn_ temper—I can't keep anything in!"

"Minerva," Hermione tried, but the young witch couldn't bear to hear her yet.

"I can handle the emotions, and the feelings, and the fact that my old life has been _erased_ but I want to have _some_ secrets left. That is none of their business! That isn't _anyone's_ business, and because I couldn't hold my temper, or contain my words, I just told them both—and in the most crude way possible. By the end of the day Molly and Arthur will know—all of them will know. The whole damn school is going to know."

"You really hadn't told _anyone_?" Hermione whispered.

Minerva shook her head, "That wasn't exactly _accepted_ when I was growing up. Sure—there have been a few women over the years, and I would guess that Albus knows, though he's always been polite enough not to bring it up. But other than that—I kept it to myself. I wanted to keep it to myself."

"Minerva, they don't mind—they understand. And Molly—well, Molly knows about me, and she doesn't care. She was a bit unhappy that I wouldn't marry any of her sons," she chuckled, "But she wasn't upset or anything."

Minerva sighed deeply, laying her head on her arms, "I'm not worried about their reactions—really I'm not. And I think I had realized, somewhere in me, that I would have to come out about it all eventually. Especially if I'm staying in this age. I guess I just wanted to be in control of that. I wanted to make that choice—not have it made by my uncontrollable temper."

Hermione moved closer, sitting beside Minerva. "I completely understand that," she laughed. "Most people don't know about me—I had to tell Mrs. Weasely, because she kept pressuring her sons to ask me out. It was terribly awkward for everyone involved. But other than that, it's only Harry."

"How did he find out?"

Hermione laughed lightly, "Harry seems to have a good sense about these things. Some time ago, I was interested in someone and he caught me on a bad day—the idiot just started pestering me about it. I didn't want to say anything, and yet the whole conversation ended with him singing that _ridiculous_ children's song, about people kissing in a tree."

Minerva laughed softly, "I think I know the one."

"Yes well, he thought that was the proper way of telling me he knew—which I suppose it was. But it was still jolting. I didn't want to talk about it at all, and yet suddenly all of my emotions were uncontrollably pouring out of me."

"Did he tell anyone?" She asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head, "No—and he won't, not until I'm ready. He hasn't even told Ron."

"He's a good kid, his mother would be so proud of him. She was that kind of person."

Hermione nodded, "You should tell him that someday, after he knows who you are. He would like to hear that he's like her—in some way other than his eyes."

Minerva lay back in the snow, and Hermione cast a heating charm over them both. "You should probably know," Hermione whispered, "Harry knows about you as well—I didn't tell him, but he figured it out."

Minerva nodded, "He knows a lot more than he lets on these days—it seems he's finally learned to think before he acts." They were silent for several moments, each watching the slow falling snowflakes which slowly blanketed them.

"Minerva?" Hermione asked after a turn, her voice shaking slightly, "Are we—are we alright?"

Minerva turned her head towards the younger witch, "What do you mean?"

Hermione sighed, "We've spent so much time together over the last few months—and yet this feels like the first _real_ conversation we've had in ages."

"It's certainly the first one during which you've looked into my eyes…" Minerva said quietly, obviously trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, not even trying to deny it. "I didn't think you had noticed."

Minerva took a deep breath and sat up next to Hermione, "It was hard to miss, Hermione. We went from being those _friends_ whose eyes lingered just slightly longer than is entirely proper—to being those friends who are never closer than six inches."

Hermione sat in silence, unsure of what to say, of how to respond. This was dangerous territory and she shouldn't have let them get this far. Her chest fluttered uncomfortably, and she felt her face heating up, despite the snow which surrounded them.

"Hermione," Minerva whispered, touching her hand lightly, "Please don't run away from me again."

"I was never running," Hermione spoke, her throat uncomfortably tight, "I was trying to find a way for us to still be friends. I was trying to do the _opposite_ of running."

Minerva laughed quietly, "You told me I was perfect, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and then _literally_ ran to my fireplace and disappeared. I would certainly call that running, dear."

Hermione blushed scarlet, taking a moment to clear her thoughts. It seemed that Minerva had been paying attention all along—that she had seen. At this point, there was no use in lying; either this friendship would work, or it wouldn't. "Alright, I was running," she admitted. "I didn't want to ruin our friendship, and I was afraid of the things I had revealed to you."

"I assumed as much," Minerva sighed.

"I _care_ about you," Hermione said, struggling with her words. "You are quickly becoming one of my dearest friends, and I care about you _far_ more than is strictly appropriate."

"And why isn't it appropriate?" She asked quietly.

Hermione let out a laugh, and tried to ignore the pressure on her chest. Was this conversation actually happening? "You know damn well, McGonagall. Not only are you my friend and roommate—which makes you automatically off the list of _logical_ romantic interests, you are also my ex-professor. And, even if all of that was okay, I know damn well that you would never _consider_ anything of the sort with someone who was your student up until 3 months ago."

"And what If I would?"

Hermione's heart stopped. Well—not literally, of course. But it felt as if it had. Minerva had just uttered five words which practically screamed that she felt the same. It was no longer a question of whether or not Minerva was flirting—at this point, Minerva either cared for her, or was being deliberately manipulative, and she would never suggest the latter.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to keep her heart—and her voice, steady. "Then I would be concerned that you are still learning to handle the hormones and emotions which have recently been thrust upon you—and I would worry that you would regret it as soon as it began."

Minerva frowned, a small crease forming between her eyebrows as she thought, and Hermione tried not to smile at the familiar expression. "So, if I'm understanding this correctly," she started, "You have feelings for me. I have feelings for you. But you are convinced that, if I was in my right mind, I wouldn't be interested in you. Therefore, any feelings I may have are most likely the result of the frolicking hormones which have recently been forced upon me?"

"That makes me sound like quite the bitch," Hermione responded with a frown, "But for the most part, yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"I don't think you're being a bitch at all—I think you are being overly rational, something which you've been prone to for many years now, and something which I like about you," Minerva explained, and then paused, thinking again. "What if I could convince you that my feelings are legitimate?"

Hermione couldn't contain the small smile which threatened to spread across her face, "Well, I suppose I would be forced to give in."

Minerva nodded seriously, "I apologize, usually I would attempt to woo you in a much more spontaneous and romantic way, but as it is, I think this is the only way I can convince you. Midnight broom adventures and gifted books simply won't do it this time."

Hermione grinned, "So that _was_ you flirting?"

Minerva smirked, "Indeed. Some good it did me."

Stealing her nerves, Hermione held Minerva's hand gently, "I think it did you quite a bit of good."

Minerva took a deep breath, and looked directly into Hermione's eyes, "I want to make a few things clear to you, Hermione. Several months ago, you held my face in your hands—like this," she whispered, taking Hermione's face gently in her hands, "And you told me, in no uncertain terms, that you think I'm beautiful and intelligent and perfect."

Hermione nodded lightly, the smell of Minerva's skin making her dizzy, "I meant it," she whispered.

"Miss. Granger—In sixty-five years, I have never managed to find another person who could match me in ambition, intelligence, or spontaneity. There wasn't a single person who managed to keep me entertained or interested. Until you."

Hermione blushed darkly, and Minerva dropped her hands and took Hermione's in her own. "You make me _want_ to do something other than sit in my dimly lit room and read my books—not that I don't still love them, mind you. But you make me want to explore, and laugh, and fly, and feel. You compel me, Hermione. You help me to fit.

"It doesn't hurt that you are _also_ brilliant, and witty, and so sinfully beautiful that it is really quite a good thing that I didn't notice earlier. Please believe me when I tell you that my emotional confusion and my hormones are what make this feeling impossible to ignore—but my heart and my mind are what make these feelings exist. I'm not confused, and I'm not using you as a coping mechanism for some horrendous form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder—I'm simply falling in love with you."

Hermione stared, eyes wide and mouth gaping slightly. She tried desperately to catch up with her senses, to tell her eyes to blink and her mouth to shut, _"We are not a codfish_," but she just couldn't seem to wake up.

After a moment's silence her mouth seemed to be in working order again, yet she didn't have any real control over it, "Really?" she croaked disbelievingly.

"Really," Minerva answered. She waited another moment, wondering what Hermione would do, but finally, she decided to speak up, "Did I convince you?"

Hermione's eyes flashed back up to hers, and Minerva couldn't help but relish in the site of them. How had she lasted these past months without them? Then Hermione surprised her completely, leaning in and stealing a soft simple kiss. A kiss which was so soft and so brief, that you would have scarcely believed it happened, and yet Minerva's heart felt as though the kiss had lasted a millennia and pounded recklessly in her chest. She couldn't contain the smile which spread across her face as Hermione whispered, "I suppose this means that I'll be forced to give in, eh?"

Minerva smiled, "Well, I wouldn't want to _force_ you, but I suppose I would be rather pleased if you agreed to go on an_ official_ date with me at some point once we were back at school."

"I think I could do that," Hermione said, blushing darkly.

Minerva felt a cruel breeze cut past them, apparently the warming charms were fading, which made Minerva wonder just how long they had been outside. "I hate to say this," she sighed, "But we should probably get back inside. They'll be looking for us soon."

"I don't suppose we should make this overly obvious quite yet?" Hermione asked as she stood from her place in the snow, holding a hand out to Minerva.

"It would probably make Christmas a little bit odd," Minerva admitted, taking Hermione's hand as she stood.

"Alright," Hermione agreed, "We'll keep things quiet for now." Then Hermione sighed dramatically, "Though I would so love to tell Ron about how I managed to seduce you without using a single piece of _'some nargle infested plant'_."

* * *

**There you go! I hope you enjoyed, and PLEASE review and let me know what you think. Every review gives me a push to keep writing!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you all SO much for the wonderful reviews, I appreciate it more than I can say! You've officially broken my record for Reviews, go you! I had told several of you that this wouldn't be out until tomorrow morning, but I decided to give it to you a few hours early. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

"Hey Hermione!" A voice whispered, and she cringed, "Hey Hermione!" It repeated, and she turned over to face the wall, "Hey Hermione!"

She groaned loudly, "Harry James Potter," she whispered, "What have I told you about waking me up like this?"

"Only if Voldemort has found a way to resurrect himself again, and I am in need of you goddess-like abilities to save the world," he recited cheerfully.

"And is that the current situation?"

"Er—No."

"Then why are you here?" she croaked.

"Because it's Christmas!" He whispered joyfully.

"No, it can't be Harry. You must be mistaken," she argued, "Today is _'Hermione gets to sleep all day' _day."

"No such luck," came another voice from the door, and Hermione tried to stifle the smile which bloomed across her face.

"No fair," Harry pouted, "I wake you up, and you grumble at me and try to deny Christmas—she walks into the room and you become a silly little ray of sunshine."

Hermione tried to contain her blush, but there was no point, "Well, that's only because she's prettier than you."

Harry grumbled audibly, as Minerva hopped over Hermione and onto the corner of the bed, "Wake up!" she said with a giggle, "You're not leaving me alone with all of these nutters!"

"Hey!" Harry argued.

"These nutters—and Harry," Minerva corrected.

"Thank you."

"Can't they wait another hour? Or six?" Hermione groaned, "_Someone_ kept me up half the night debating house-elf rights."

"It's not my fault you held unrealistic beliefs about the ways of achieving house-elf equality," Minerva argued.

"Oy!" Harry yelled, "Are you two _really_ going to sit here debating house elves, when there is a perfectly delicious breakfast down stairs!"

"Well it really is quite an important issue, Harry," Minerva defended.

"Alright Hermione 1 and Hermione 2," He said, rolling his eyes exasperatedly, "I'll see you both downstairs."

Hermione rolled over and uncovering her head slightly, "Morning," she croaked.

"Morning," Minerva greeted.

"I find that you are far more pleasant to wake up to than Harry," she groaned, and Minerva grinned.

"Sorry dear, I tried to get here first, but he's faster," she said shrugging, "Just be glad that it wasn't Fred who woke you up. He _wanted _to, but Harry stopped him."

Hermione groaned again, "My hero."

Minerva laid down next to Hermione, their bodies close, but never quite touching, "We really should get up," she whispered, kissing Hermione shyly and causing a whirl of butterflies to flutter within her chest. "They're all waiting for us."

With one last groan, Hermione sat up, forcing her feet from the bed, "The greatest Christmas present in the world would be three more hours of sleep."

Minerva kissed her cheek, "Well, I suppose you will have to be thankful for the second greatest Christmas presents then." Leaving Hermione red-faced and drowsy, Minerva flounced from the room, and Hermione could hear her traipsing down the stairs.

Shaking her head slightly, she smiled, "Since when is _she _a morning person?"

Hermione untangled herself from the remaining blankets, and made her way downstairs as well, "Morning Weaselys," she called.

"Morning Hermione!" was chorused back at her, along with a flurry of Christmas wishes. Hermione couldn't help but blush, she didn't realize quite how long she had slept. The entire family was already here, including Percy, Charlie, Bill and a very pregnant Fleur.

"Sorry I took so long to wake, usually I'm the first one up," she laughed awkwardly as she swiped a muffin from the table and threw herself into her customary chair next to the Christmas tree.

"It's fine, dear," Molly clucked, bringing her a cup of tea, "Goodness knows you deserve some rest—you work so hard at school, not like the rest of them," she added glaring at her youngest children. Hermione smiled brightly at the mother.

Hermione's parents had _not_ received their memories back kindly, and while she was still writing to them on occasion and attempting to mend the rift which the war had caused, progress was slow. Her family had always accepted her magic, but it was no secret that they didn't understand it, and that they feared it—not that she could blame them, what with their only daughter being petrified, scarred, tortured, persecuted, and forced to fight in a war.

Nonetheless, over the last several years, Molly had become a second mother to Hermione, and she couldn't have been more grateful, "Molly, why don't you have a seat, and open the first present," Hermione said kindly, "Open my gift, it's the shiny red one."

Molly beamed at Hermione, "You know you didn't have to get me anything!" she chided, but allowed herself a moment's peace as she picked up the small package.

"Well, I know you usually prefer something more practical—but I broke that rule this year. I think every now and then you just deserve something pretty," Hermione said excitedly, she desperately hoped that Molly liked the gift.

Molly carefully opened the package and found a thick wool scarf, currently in Gryffindor Red, "Oh Hermione! This is beautiful, and I'll have you know it's _very_ practical, it will keep me nice and toasty!" she gushed.

Hermione smiled, "Well I also charmed it! A fun bit of magic, actually. It will change color depending on what you're wearing, and thickness depending how cold it is."

Molly jumped out of her seat and rushed towards the girl, hugging her tightly, "Thank you so much, dear, it's beautiful!"

After that, gifts began to be passed about. For Ginny, Hermione had charmed a bottomless bag, much like the one that she had carried for all of those months. "Oh Hermione, you should sell these!" For Ron and Harry, a study booklet for the Auror academy entrance exams—and a large amount of Honeydukes candy. For Arthur, a pair of light-up muggle sneakers, which delighted him to no end. Fleur received another bottomless bag; this one styled more like a baby bag, and already filled with various infant supplies. Her newly pregnant hormones caused her to burst into tears at the sight of the thoughtful gift.

The list went on, but every member of the family seemed incredibly happy with the gifts she had made or found, and Hermione was beaming. She really did enjoy making her friends happy. Minerva was sitting on the floor near Hermione's chair, and nudged her knee lightly, handing her a medium-sized package.

"To: Hermione, From: M.M.," she read, and smiled. Unwrapping the box carefully she found a newly released book on charm-theory, namely creating your own. She grinned at the book, it would certainly be useful. From underneath the book, Hermione saw a small bag peeking out of the box, with a note attached:

"_Floo Powder—My library is yours, use it whenever you wish. – M.M."_

Hermione beamed and threw her arms around Minerva, "Thank you!" she squealed, drawing the attention of several of her friends.

"Jeez, what did she get you?" Fred asked, "_I_ never get that kind of reaction from my gifts!"

Ron snickered, pointing at the book, "A book, what else does Hermione ever get excited about?"

Minerva smirked, "Perhaps you just haven't done anything which excites her," she joked, causing his brothers to laugh loudly.

Hermione pulled her final package from under the tree, handing it to Minerva, "Pour Vous, Mon Petite Chou!"

Minerva laughed out loud, "Your little cabbage?"

Hermione grinned, "It's a term of endearment!"

"I'm not a vegetable, Hermione," she said with a poke to Hermione's leg. Taking the package, she carefully pulled away the wrapping paper, and pulled the lid off of a long box. Inside, was a set of thick wool tartan robes, and a note which read, _"McSweeney Tartan Robes, since you outgrew your old set…" _

"They are charmed to be waterproof, and to change thickness, much like Molly's scarf," Hermione explained.

Minerva grinned widely, "Thank you, Hermione."

Ron chuckled from the other side of the room, "Hermes, you messed up. Those aren't her family tartan."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows convincingly, "What?"

"That's the same tartan McGonagall always wore—you got her professor's robes!"

"Oh!" Hermione cried, a look of embarrassment on her face, "I'm so sorry, Mary—I can charm them to the correct tartan!"

Molly laughed out loud, but then clamped a hand over her mouth, "I'm—I'm sorry, Hermione," she covered, "I shouldn't laugh at your mistake."

Hermione pretended to look mortified, as Minerva smirked at her, "Thank you nonetheless, Hermione. They're lovely."

* * *

It was hours later that Molly bustled into the living room, holding an envelope out for Minerva, causing the young witch to furrow her brows in confusion, "Letter for you, dear. Odd—Christmas day and all."

"Thank you," she said quietly, taking the envelope in her hand. It was addressed to Mary McSweeney, and Minerva wasn't sure which name would have surprised her more at this point.

Hermione looked at her oddly as she excused herself from the room, opening the envelope as she walked.

_Dear Minerva,_

_Yes, I know who you are. I'm sorry to write to you today, of all days, but the matter simply couldn't wait. The daily prophet received communications last week from an unnamed source—a student at Hogwarts, who is in contact with a portrait—who disclosed the fact that you have been "de-aged". She apparently plans to inform several other major members of the Wizarding media, in hopes of gaining some small notoriety herself._

There is

nothing_ I can do to prevent this story from running, I apologize, I really did try. Unfortunately, this is too big—both as a gossip piece, but also because of the magic behind it. You have ultimately been doused with the fountain of youth! _

_The best I could do was inform you before printing (the 1__st__ of January) and write the story myself—cast you in the most positive light possible. I really am sorry, Minerva. I would never do such a thing to harm you, or your reputation. You have all of my respect._

_If there is anything you require from me, please feel free to send an owl. And feel free to contact me if you would like to contribute a quote._

_Respectfully,  
L. Lindinbush—Daily Prophet_

Minerva's legs shook as she leaned against the staircase wall, she had been found out.

* * *

Hermione sat in the living room, trying desperately to maintain her patience. Minerva had left the room nearly twenty minutes ago, and she hadn't come back. Everyone else may have thought that the young witch had just received a Christmas card from a distant family member—but Hermione knew otherwise.

If either Minerva _or_ Mary was receiving mail, that meant something.

She fidgeted with her fingers, trying to concentrate on the game of chess which Ron and Ginny were playing. It had surprised everyone when Ginny had suddenly picked up a talent for Chess, but Ron loved it. He finally had someone who was fairly evenly matched against him—even if that was his little sister.

Glancing back towards the dining room again, Hermione decided to go check on Minerva.

"I'll be right back," she mumbled towards her friends, but none of them took any notice. Slipping into the dining room, she silently made her way to the staircase, assuming Minerva had retreated upstairs.

As she reached the second landing she found Minerva, sitting in the small corner, legs crossed, and eyes devoid of any emotion. Hermione kneeled down next to her, "Minerva? What are you doing here?" she asked gently.

Minerva just shook her head numbly. Hermione kneeled down, "Minerva," she whispered, "Can you make it upstairs with me?" Minerva nodded lightly, and Hermione helped her up the stairs and into the room Hermione was sleeping in.

Minerva just slouched blank-eyed onto the bed. "Minerva," Hermione tried again, "What's going on?" Minerva shook her head for a moment and then handed the slightly crumpled letter to Hermione.

Reading it over quickly, Hermione's eyes widened, "Bugger." She glanced back towards Minerva, who was still staring blankly into the wall, "Who is this woman? Can she be trusted?"

Minerva shrugged, "She was my student," she said, her voice raspy, "It's been years since I've spoken with her, but she was always a nice girl—very respectful. She graduated at the end of your third year."

Hermione sat heavily on the bed, "Well, I suppose that's a good thing."

"Hermione—everyone is going to _know_. By the time we're back from the Holidays, that article will have been read by every student at that school, by all of my colleagues."

Hermione frowned, "Well, you had planned on telling them at the end of the year," She said softly, "I suppose this just speeds things up a bit."

Minerva snorted, "A bit."

"It really isn't as bad as you think."

"Hermione—this is a dangerous potion, if nothing else, I'm concerned about that. But the original plan had me having graduated, again, and therefore not living with my students. Now, I have six months to deal with!"

"It won't be all that bad," Hermione argued.

"Despite your enormous respect for me, most of your classmates don't feel the same," Minerva argued, "They think I'm a cold-hearted bitch, only slightly preferable to Professor Snape. Now how would you react if Professor Snape had been living in your dormitory for several months without your knowledge?"

"They don't see you that way, Min. Sure, you're tough, but they know that you care—that you have a lighter side. Everyone knows that."

"It won't change their reaction."

Hermione frowned, "Well—there isn't much we can do about it now, can we?"

"No," Minerva said, running a hand through her hair.

"So, you should just decide whether or not you feel like sending a quote to the daily prophet. And—and how you are going to tell our friends, assuming you would prefer to be the one to break that news."

Minerva shut her eyes tightly, "Tomorrow," she croaked. "It's Christmas. We'll tell them all tomorrow."

* * *

The rest of Christmas day weighed heavily on both Hermione and Minerva—they tried to keep up the cheerful smiles and laughter from before the letter had arrived, but they knew that anyone who watched closely would see through them. Molly had already approached Minerva once, and Harry was watching Hermione closely throughout the day, but neither discussed it.

Not on Christmas.

That evening, once their friends had finally gone to sleep, they sat quietly on the couch, staring into the light of the Christmas tree. Hermione had her hand wrapped around Minerva's, and Minerva rested her shoulder on Hermione's.

"Hermione," she whispered.

"Hm?" Hermione answered lightly, opening her eyes to look at the green eyed woman next to her.

"I don't know that we should do this after all," Minerva sighed, her heart breaking at the words.

"Minerva," Hermione started, a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

"No, please listen," Minerva interrupted, and Hermione quieted. "I care about you, I do, and that's why I don't want you to have to deal with all of the backlash of this. We would have gotten enough attention as is—but now you're dating your old professor, I'm dating my ex-student. People will _not _understand the science behind my condition—they'll think I'm some sort of pedophile. They'll also suggest that this was going on far before I was transformed. I'll be painted as the villainous old predator, and you as the victim—or worse, as the _'brilliant'_ muggleborn who has been sleeping with her professor for an A."

Hermione blinked tearfully, "We're both highly respected members of the wizarding community. I helped vanquish Voldemort—you hold an order of Merlin!"

"And they won't care about that, not if there is a good bit of gossip available."

"What if I don't care? To hell with my damn reputation! If it's that easily thrown in the dirt, what do I want with it anyways?" Hermione argued, causing Minerva to sigh.

"Hermione, you know exactly how much good you could do for our society if given the opportunity. You can't throw that all away for some relationship."

"Fine—fine," Hermione tried, "Then we keep it a secret. We're friends, that's all. It may not be ideal but—"

"We spend nearly all of our time together, they'll find out!"

"So what, you want to just stop being friends all together? Couldn't the same ramifications befall Harry or Ron, or Neville? Are you just going to cut everyone out of your life?" Minerva was silent, and Hermione's eyes widened, "That's exactly what you're planning!"

"You don't understand," Minerva tried desperately, "This could ruin your lives too—I can't be responsible for that!"

"Dammit Minerva—don't pull a Harry on this. People are responsible for their own damn actions. You can warn us, and maybe some people with scamper, but I'm not going anywhere. I can't force you to be in a relationship with me, but you still live with me, you still have classes with me, and you're not going to be able to stop yourself from being _friends_ with me," She ranted, "And besides, I'm actually the _least _likely to be accused of having a relationship with you—no one has ever suggested that Minerva McGonagall is gay, remember?"

Minerva sighed, "I'm just trying to protect you."

"I don't need protecting. What I need is free-will."

Minerva glared at the other woman, she knew that Hermione wasn't going to be swayed on this matter, and loathe as she was to admit it, she had a point. They were going to be together all the time no matter what, so unless she wanted to be downright rude to her, Minerva might as well be her friend—and if she was going to be her friend…

Minerva groaned, "Are you sure about this?"

Hermione smirked slightly, "Of course I am—don't you think I thought about all of that to begin with?"

Minerva just nodded half-heartedly, "Of course you did, who did I think I was talking to?"

Hermione wrapped her arms around Minerva, "I really do understand the risks, Minerva—they terrify me, and infuriate me. But the press has been after me for years now, and I refuse to let them dictate my choices in life. I have to live for me."

Minerva gave a small smile, "You always seem to be switching roles one me. Every time I think that I've reclaimed the role of _professor_, you just completely overtake me."

"In your defense, you taught me for years, so it's only natural that I already know what you're going to lecture me about," Hermione grinned.

Minerva groaned, "You're going to be the death of me."

* * *

The following morning Minerva sat at the Weasely table with all eyes on her, quickly realizing that there was no possible way that this conversation wouldn't be awkward.

Minerva had just spent five minutes stumbling over her words, and not making any progress whatsoever. She had stuttered out that she wasn't who they _thought_ she was, but that was as far as she had gotten before losing her train of thought entirely. How was she supposed to explain all of this?

As Minerva struggled to find words, Ron interrupted her, and for once his lack of manners was a godsend. She didn't know what she was saying, or where she was going, and she couldn't help but hope that maybe he could actually lead her in the right direction.

"What are you talking about?" he said, his entire face a picture of confusion.

Minerva sighed. No help from him then. Glancing around the table she caught Hermione's eye, and the younger witch must have seen something there, because she quickly cleared her throat, "What Mary is _trying _to say, and stumbling over painfully, is that her real name is not Mary. That was a cover story for her last minute induction into Gryffindor."

"Then who is she?" Charlie asked, a small smirk in place. He wasn't nearly invested enough in Mary's life yet to really care who she was—and obviously Hermione wouldn't have brought her to the house unless she was safe. So he was just amused by whatever was going on.

"I'm Minerva—er, Professor McGonagall," she said finally, blushing furiously and staring at her fingers.

"Gasp," Harry said blandly, chuckling to himself,

Minerva raised her eyebrows at him, "You knew?"

Harry shook his head, laughing, "Why is it that everyone always assumes that Hermione is the _only_ smart one?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Ron interrupted, his face paler than usual and his ears red, "You're telling us that you aren't actually 18 year old Mary McSweeney—but 70 year old McGonagall!?"

Minerva was about to answer, but Hermione cut in, "Well, she's both, Ron. She was hit with a de-aging potion. Therefore she _has_ existed for 65 years—but she has the body, and all of the emotions of an eighteen year old."

"But—but—but—she's McGonagall, that's what you're saying?"

"Geez Ronnikins, it isn't that hard to understand!" Fred said rolling his eyes.

"And really, you should have noticed sooner," George added in.

"Preferably before you spent several months hitting on her," Ginny snickered.

"Boys, be nice," Molly interrupted.

"Well I wouldn't have hit on her if I had known that she's—that she was…I wouldn't have!" he shouted over the table, causing Fred and George to start laughing loudly.

"It's okay Ron, it's perfectly normal for boys to have crushes on their teachers!" Charlie snickered, causing Ron to get more upset.

"How is this not against the rules? She lived in our dorm, and went to classes with us, and is on the Quidditch team—how could she do all of that without telling anyone?" He asked desperately.

Minerva had her head in her hands at this point, just trying to block out the sounds of the Weasely brood, groaning she explained, "I was instructed by Professor Dumbledore that I shouldn't tell _anyone, _Ron. The potion I was hit with could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands, so he was waiting until the potion had been made safer, as was originally intended."

"Which brings up the question," Fred started.

"Why are you mentioning it now?" George finished.

"As far as we knew, that potion is still _incredibly _dangerous, and has another six to eight months until it will probably be safe for human consumption," Fred said, his eyebrows furrowed in an uncharacteristically serious expression.

"Hold everything," Molly interrupted, "How do you two know so much about the potion which hit Minerva?"

"Er—"

"Um—"

"I mean—"

"What we're really trying to say is—"

"Oh goodness gracious," Hermione interrupted, "They were the ones who created the potion. A nasty student decided to steal it from their lab, and drench a muggleborn with it. Minerva jumped in front of the potion, hence being de-aged. For once, it _wasn't _their fault; they had taken all the proper safety precautions."

Molly glared at her sons, obvious disapproval in her eyes, "Molly, give the boys a break. It was an honest accident—and frankly, their invention is brilliant. Also, they've spent nearly all of their time working with Severus to try and reverse the potion."

Molly softened somewhat, as Harry asked, "Is there a reverse potion?"

Minerva sighed, and both twins blushed. In the end it was Hermione who answered, "No Harry, she's going to be staying this age."

Harry shook his head, "I'm sorry professor, this must be ridiculously difficult for you."

"Difficult for her?" Ron quipped, "That's a laugh. She gets to start life over again, and play quidditch, and beguile her unsuspecting students!"

"Ronald Weasely!" Hermione snapped, her wand suddenly pointed at him, "How dare you!"

Minerva rubbed her temples, "I never tried to _beguile_ you, Mister Weasely. In fact, I believe Hermione and I tried rather _desperately_ to get you to leave me alone. It is your own stalker-like tendencies which have ended you in this situation. I was more than content to be your friend, and teammate, but I never did _anything_ to indicate a romantic interest."

Harry smirked towards his friend, "If I recall, she mentioned something about detaching your cock…"

Minerva turned beat red, "Er—my temper sometimes gets away with me, a bit."

Hermione burst into a fit of giggles and sat down, as Ron glared at the two women. "As fascinating as all this is," Fred interrupted, "I'm still trying to figure out _why_ you're telling everyone."

"Because someone discovered my secret, and shared it with the Daily Prophet," Minerva sighed, "It will be in the newspaper in a few days, and I wanted to tell you all myself—especially you- Harry, Ron, and Ginny. You have all been wonderful friends to me, to Mary, and no matter how upset you may be, I wanted to tell you personally."

"Minerva—can I call you that?" Harry asked timidly, and Minerva nodded, "I can't speak for everyone, but I've had a suspicion for a while now, and I have no problem being friends with you. I know this wasn't your choice, and I don't see why we should punish you for something which was out of your control."

"Thank you, Harry," Minerva said softly.

"I'll admit, I'm a bit weirded out, and I hadn't realized it, obviously, but you're a nice person. I don't really care who you _were_ as long as you're good to me and my friends now," Ginny said with a shrug, making Hermione smile.

"I _told_ you they would be fine," she said, smiling brightly.

Arthur had been silent throughout the conversation, knowing of _Mary's_ identity, and not wanting to involve himself in the politics of his kids, but now he felt the need to speak up. "Minerva, what are you and Albus planning on doing about this story? I mean, as you said, this is dangerous information, and it creates a substantial risk to you, Fred and George."

Minerva frowned, "Honestly, Arthur, I'm not sure. I received the letter yesterday, and I've yet to correspond with Albus. I don't think we have a lot of options though. The story _will _run, and we just have to see what happens from there. I don't believe that anyone knows that it was the twins who created that potion, so that should be of some help."

"We haven't mentioned it to anyone," George said quietly, "At this point; we've worked on several more dangerous inventions, several of which were directly requested by the Ministry. I'm sure that if it came down to it, we would be offered some level of protection."

"Besides," Fred added, a small smile on his face, "Who would want to risk annoying us?"

"Just be careful," Molly said, wringing her hands slightly, "All _three _of you."

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading, please shoot me a review, if you have the time! The next chapter is a ridiculously fluffy one, so keep your eyes open!**

**A couple of specific review responses, because neither of you have accounts and I wanted to respond personally:**

**Chelsea: Just so you know, I was having a dreadful week as well, and you jump started my writing bug. I've written three more chapters since reading your review, so thank you very much for that. It makes my day to know that you not only enjoy my story, but that it gives you such a happy buzz. Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoy the rest of the story!**

**Joefelldown: Thank you so much for your review. All of the things you mentioned were parts of that chapter which I _loved_ writing, but was really worried about how they would be received. Thank you so much for letting me know that they worked! I really hope you continue to love the characters (as I've written them, obviously we love the characters as Rowling wrote them!) as much as I do.**

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	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: A fairly light-hearted update this time. I had promised a bit more fluff than this, but I ended up pushing that back a chapter. I got some MEGA inspiration yesterday and wrote this up. I hope you enjoy it!**

If you are enjoying following this story (and others of mine!) consider getting in touch on Twitter! My name is LadyChristineM, and there is a link on my profile. I've started tweeting updates about what I'm working on, when I will post new chapters, and the occasional random quote. I will also happily talk to readers/writers. Think about it!

* * *

Minerva leaned hard against the wall of the train station, staring at the Scarlet Train as her former students rushed to load their baggage. She was waiting until the last moment to get on the train, hoping to go as unnoticed as possible.

It was a strange thing, to be standing in front of the train again. She hadn't really noticed on the ride out, being so distracted by Hermione's distant behavior and the upcoming visit to the Weasely's. Now that she had begun to ponder it, she was distinctly uncomfortable. She had ridden this train for the last time _so_ many years ago. And she had always been so busy during the term that she had never greeted it at the station or waived it off. More than the dormitory, the Gryffindor table, or the classrooms—she didn't feel she belonged here. This was a place for the students. This was a place free from rules, houses, and homework, it was a place to be yourself.

She shouldn't be breaking into that world.

_It's your world now too_, she shouted in the back of her mind.

So involved in her own thoughts, she hadn't heard the identical menaces until they were right in front of her.

"M&M!" They chorused as George ruffled her hair, despite an angry scowl in his direction.

Fred winked at her, grinning, "We were worried we wouldn't be able to find you in time."

Minerva smiled nervously, "I'm avoiding the torture just a couple of moments longer," she admitted.

"Nah!" George laughed, "You're the great Minerva McG! Bugger anyone who thinks otherwise. You have always walked around that school like it was named for you, you should treat the rest of the world the same way."

"Yea, it doesn't matter that you're practically jailbate," Fred smirked.

She rolled her eyes, "So what do you two want?"

Both twins slumped slightly, glancing between each other. Finally, George spoke up, "Look, M. We couldn't say much around the house, because Mom is worried and wanted to keep the talk about you to a minimum,"

"But we were thinking and we wanted to give you these," Fred smiled, handing her a pile of magazines.

Minerva frowned looking over the pieces of paper distastefully. The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Spella Weekly, and Transfiguration Today. "Why are you giving me these," she growled, "If this is another prank, it's in pretty sour taste boys."

"No!" the chorused.

"Look, we aren't making fun M, but we think you should read them," Fred explained.

"People are _going_ to be talking about you and these articles; you might as well know what they say!" George continued. "That way _you_ have the power."

"If people are quoting this drivel, and you haven't read it yourself, you'll constantly be surprised—taken off guard."

Minerva sighed, the boys were right. In fact, she had been thinking the same thing earlier that day, but had been too cowardly to actually buy them. She had read the Daily Prophet article, and it had been fair. But she had also given her a full interview; she hadn't had the luxury with the other publications. "You're right," she admitted after a moment.

Both grinned broadly, "Naturally!"

"We were so worried," Fred laughed.

"We thought you were going to hex us," George finished.

"But we really thought you should have them,"

"And you wouldn't want to buy them yourself!"

"I wouldn't have," Minerva agreed, "Thank you."

"Not a problem," George said, smiling sincerely. "There's just one more thing, then we'll leave you be."

Minerva looked at them questioningly, "We're still trying to find a solution," Fred confided.

"Snape and Dumbledore both think it's hopeless, but we're still trying," George promised.

"We're not going to give up that easy."

"Boys, I appreciate that, but you should stop worrying. I've come to terms with staying this way, it's alright," Minerva argued. As much as she missed her old life, she didn't want them to spend the rest of their lives searching for an impossible cure.

"We're not worrying, but we are trying," Fred explained. "We can't make any promises though."

"We just think that you should have that choice," George said with a small frown, "If you want to stay eighteen or want to go back to being sixty-five, that should be up to you."

As the final warning whistle sounded from the train, Minerva surprised the pair by unceremoniously pulling them into her arms. "Thank you both, so much."

Matching scarlet faces greeted her when she pulled away, making her laugh loudly. "Old Hag McG, able to make the Weasely twins blush. Oh how the mighty have fallen," she winked, "See you in a few months!"

Jumping on the train, she moved quickly through. Hermione had told her what compartment they would be in so she didn't have to worry about searching each one. Despite the Twin's advice, she couldn't quite find the courage to whole world like she had Hogwarts for all those years. Hogwarts was her home—this, this was something else entirely. So she kept her head down, and did her best to ignore the awkward silences as she passed.

Slipping into the cramped compartment she heaved a sigh of relief as she slouched next to Hermione, "I made it."

Hermione grinned, pulling the shade on the door, so passing students couldn't gape at her, "Of course you did! You're going to be fine, Min. Stop worrying, it'll all pass soon enough."

Minerva finally looked up, and couldn't stop a smile from blooming at Hermione's excited expression. Despite the insanity of the coming months, Minerva couldn't help but catch Hermione's contagious excitement for a new semester. "I'm sure you're right," she grinned, folding her fingers through Hermione's.

Harry coughed violently at that, and Minerva jerked her hand away, dark red splotches appearing on her cheeks. "Sorry," she whispered to Hermione, "I forgot."

Hermione just shrugged, a light pink tinging her own complexion, but still smiling just as widely.

Minerva glanced around the compartment, suddenly realizing just how cramped it was. Ron was sitting in the opposite corner, eyes firmly fixed out the window. And Harry sat next to him. Beside Harry sat Neville, with Ginny happily perched on his lap. Minerva couldn't help but smile at that, she hadn't realized the two were a pair, but they seemed oddly fitting. Finally, on their side of the compartment sat Luna, who seemed engulfed in a piece of fiction, and Hermione.

Minerva wasn't sure how Neville or Luna would react to her identity; they were the only friends she had left who hadn't heard from her directly. But neither seemed to be reacting oddly to her sudden appearance.

"What's with the magazines, Minerva?" Harry asked suddenly, noticing the pile in her lap.

She cringed, "The twins brought them for me—thought I should probably see the damage for myself, before anyone decides to surprise me by quoting it."

Neville frowned from in front of her, "I don't know, it seems like it'll just make you more unhappy."

Hermione nodded, "Other than the prophet article, it's all just insulting. You should just ignore them."

Ginny surprised Minerva by shaking her head firmly, "No, it's better to know for yourself, be prepared."

"Knowledge is always better than being oblivious," Luna said softly from the corner, and Hermione had to stifle a snort. Minerva smiled slightly, Hermione was very fond of the younger girl, but she knew better than most just how _oblivious_ she was.

"I agree with them," Minerva said finally, "I would rather know then suddenly hear a ghastly rumor and be surprised."

She flicked through the pile, "I'm already being unpleasantly surprised, I can't believe that even Transfiguration Today has been turned against me. I've been a subscriber since I was twelve; they've named me witch of the year six times since then." She shook her head, she would need to get used to losing her accolades.

Hermione tapped her foot lightly with her own, a sign of support which was graciously accepted.

She slowly opened to the prescribed page; a large picture began the article. Minerva recognized herself from four or five years ago, accepting her most recent award from them. It was a good picture, she had to admit. In a smaller photo she could be seen in her current state, flying across the quidditch pitch with a quaffle in her arm and dodging two bludgers at once. '_Well,' _she thought to herself, _'They're using flattering photos, that's a good sign, isn't it?'_

_Minerva McGonagall—Professor, War Heroine, and Hormone Addled Eighteen Year Old?_  
_By: Benedict Prucetti_

_Over the past twenty years you have heard about Minerva McGonagall almost ceaselessly from this publication. Considered one of the top witches of Transfiguration, she had made endless contributions to the art throughout her half-century in the field._

_When, at the end of September, Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore reported that she had apparently disappeared into anonymity due to an emergency of some sort, we wept for the loss. Now, four months later, we have discovered the cause of her departure thanks to the reporting of the Daily Prophet's Lisa Lindinbush._

_On January 1st, Ms. Lindinbush published her story, including interviews with Minerva McGonagall herself. In Minerva's ever-succinct words, "At the beginning of September I was involved in an accident. A younger student attempted a cruel prank on one of his classmates, but I stepped in front of it. Several days later I woke up to find that I was eighteen years old again. Since that time, for my own safety, I have been attending Hogwarts as a seventh year student under the Pseudonym Mary McSweeney."_

_Apparently Deputy Headmistress McGonagall was wrapped back in her eighteen year old body, something which many of us could easily envy. But the transformation didn't just end there; she is also feeling all of the same emotions and imbalances of your average eighteen year old. Lindinbush said, "Even just interviewing Minerva it is obvious that her usual stoic mask of ferocity is hard to maintain. She seems to bounce around from an untamable temper, to bubbling giggles, and finally just barely hidden tears. One thing is obvious; she certainly isn't enjoying her current situation."_

_We received a rare quote from Hogwarts Head Girl and War Heroine Hermione Granger, who apparently shares a room with McGonagall, she said, "Minerva is doing the best she can with an unimaginable situation. Of course she is upset; you would have to be entirely witless to think otherwise. Her life has been taken from her, and she has suddenly been thrust into adolescence, a time of life which very few intelligent people would voluntarily return to. Yet instead of having a tantrum, or refusing to cooperate, she has tried her best to acclimate to living with her students and going to classes. She does all of her homework, and helps other students with theirs. She chose not to live with the majority of the students because she didn't want to breach that privacy. She hasn't reported any of their rule-breaking, nor the professors'. Really, people should be rather impressed with how Minerva has handled herself; I can't say I would have done as well."_

_According to recent reports, Minerva has been spending some of her time outside of class enjoying the rare privileges of being young again. She has joined the Gryfindor Quidditch team. According to our records, Minerva was a quidditch player all throughout her time at Hogwarts, but due to an injury she was forced to retire before ever joining the professional leagues. Apparently this injury was reversed along with her age, and she has been taking the team straight to the Quidditch Cup. Savior and Quidditch Captain Harry Potter says, "She is an invaluable member of our team, and I don't care how old she is. If she wants to keep playing as a 65 year old, I welcome it! She would probably still be better than half of the school!"_

_When asked if she thought she would be able to return to her old life eventually, Minerva frowned and told Ms. Lindinbush, "It looks doubtful at this point, very doubtful. I will very likely live the rest of my life in this new aging process, and that is something I will need to cope with at some point. At the moment I'm just taking things day by day."_

_We at Transfiguration Today are sorry to hear that a cure is not imminent, but glad to hear that Minerva is in such good health and wish her a speedy and painless recovery. We can only hope that her current research will allow her to bring us even more magical solutions to our transfigurative problems._

"Well that wasn't so bad," Minerva said, her eyes surprised. Hermione chuckled slightly next to her, and Minerva shoved her lightly. "You could have told me that they had interviewed you—_both _of you," she said, glancing towards Harry as well.

"Are you complaining?" Harry laughed, "We didn't think you would mind."

"No," Minerva sighed, "I just know how much you both hate talking to the press, and using your fame."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Min, we hate the press in regards to _us_, but we might as well use it to help _you_."

Shaking her head, Minerva smiled, "Well thank you both, I appreciate it. I know my quotes in the Daily Prophet didn't come out great. I was stiff and awkward; I just didn't know what to say."

Hermione tapped her foot again, "You were, but I think Lisa covered most of that up, and with the added quotes from us, you ended up sounding pretty good."

"I am pleasantly surprised," Minerva admitted, "I thought it was going to be terrible. I suppose I should have had a bit more faith."

Neville coughed awkwardly, looking towards Harry and then back and her. "Well," He said, slightly nervous, "They aren't all so good. The prophet was fair, and Transfiguration Today has always liked you, but the other couple—they're pretty harsh."

Minerva frowned, "I kind of guessed. I had just hoped I could skip it for a while." Hermione patted her shoulder gently, and Minerva picked up the copy of Spella Weekly. They would undoubtedly be the worst, they were purely a gossip magazine. She couldn't say she was at all surprised when she saw the title of their article. Ginny giggled, Ron glared, and Hermione swore loudly.

_Minerva McGonagall: From Respectable Teacher to Tricksy Trollip_  
_By: Eliza Lustro, Investigative Reporter_

_On New Year's Day we were all shocked to learn about the supposed accident of the famous Professor McGonagall, who has been unceremoniously transformed from a stern 65 year old to a leggy, quidditch playing, eighteen year old._

_While the Daily Prophet's article, written by former McGonagall favorite, Lisa Lindinbush, certainly gave us the facts, it was very obviously biased is the professor's favor. Unlike Ms. Lindinbush, this reporter is no longer looking to score house points, and is more than willing to find out the truth behind the transformation of Professor McGonagall._

_We interviewed several of her students, including Gryffindor eighth year Lavender Brown. We asked if she had suspected that her newest housemate was in fact her Professor in disguise. "Definitely not!" Brown responded, "McG, bless her heart, was a vulture of a woman. All stern glances, and brittle bones. Quite the eyesore to look at. When little Mary McSweeney walked in, half the men in Gryffindor started panting for her. Long legs, magically shortened skirt, free flowing long dark hair. And with the way she flirted with the boys? There was no way we were guessing that she was secretly an elderly professor."_

_According to Brown, McGonagall quickly befriended three of the Wizarding World's most delectable teenage bachelors. Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasely, and the Savior himself, Harry Potter. She even managed to score herself a fairly private room, by sharing with Head Girl Hermione Granger._

_As you may recall from years past, Hermione has been in relationships with all three of these boys, as well as Bulgarian heartthrob Victor Krum. Several students have suggested that she may be helping the ex-professor to win over her boys._

_We asked Romilda Vane, Gryfindor sixth year, how she felt to be living with a professor. She told us, "I'm disgusted! I thought I had a home here, privacy. Now I find out that every small rule I break is being reported to the Headmaster? That I've been sharing the shower with a professor? Not only that, but she took my spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. I was a shoe in, but when she tried out Harry felt pressure to let her join. He's apparently known all year. I mean, she's a great player and all, but she's past her time. It's supposed to be our turn now."_

_But it's not just boys and Quidditch positions which Minerva is snagging up, but even entire futures. According to Eighth year Gryffindor, Pavarti Patil, "My sister is extremely worried. She's a Ravenclaw and has always been second in her class, just after Hermione Granger. She doesn't have a war-hero status to fall back on, she was counting on that placing, but now her professor has edged her out. McGonagall doesn't need top marks to find a job, she's already got one!"_

_It's clear from the distress of these poor students that they have been far from pleased with this new discovery. Further evidence suggests that this transformation was not the accident which has been publicized, but instead the desperate actions of a lonely witch. Here at Spella Weekly we will certainly be keeping an eye on Miss McSweeney and continuing to seek the truth._

Just as Minerva finished reading the article the entirely magazine burst into a brilliant show of flames, extinguishing itself on the floor of the car.

"Wasn't that a _bit_ of an overreaction?" Harry laughed, opening a window to allow the smoke out.

"No." Minerva snapped causing Ginny to laugh.

"Harry hasn't read that article yet. I don't blame you for blowing it up."

"What did it say that was so terrible?" Hermione asked.

"You're not going to like it."

"Try me."

Minerva sighed, "Apparently I have purposefully reverted to an eighteen year old, am in the process of seducing every male in this compartment, and _you_ are teaching me your whorish methods," Minerva said with a sarcastic grin.

"Oh, well if that's all," Hermione smiled, causing Minerva to glare at her again, "Sounds like they wrote the complete truth then."

Minerva attempted to swat at her playfully, but Hermione's reflexes were faster this time. She grabbed Minerva's wrists tightly. "Insolent witch, let me go!"

Hermione just giggled, "Nope, I like you better this way."

"Wow, Mione, didn't know you were into that," Ginny quipped, causing Hermione's face to glow ruby red.

She babbled incoherently for a moment, as her friends laughed. Finally Minerva pulled her hands away, winking cheekily at Hermione. "It's alright, dear. I know I'm quite hard to resist."

At that point the entire room was bursting with laughter, while Hermione glared at Minerva. "You should probably read your last magazine," Hermione grumbled.

Minerva smiled widely as she turned to the most recent issue of Witch Weekly, but that smile quickly turned into a grimace and a fierce curse.

Hermione stopped glaring immediately, glancing over Minerva's shoulder, "Oh, that isn't a very forgiving picture is it?"

"I should think not. Someone took that damnable picture at the funeral of my younger brother Robert. I was more than a_ little_ upset." Minerva snapped, throwing the issue across the floor.

Harry frowned deeply, "That's just low, even for them."

Surprisingly enough, Luna was the one to pick up the magazine, holding daintily in her hands. "Minerva McGonagall," she read, "Her heartbreaking search for love in an unforgiving world."

"What!?" Minerva cried, but Hermione gently silenced her, urging Luna to continue.

"Hm," she said, reading through the first couple of paragraphs, "They seem to be taking the opinion that you were in love with Professor Dumbledore, and heartbroken after he rebuked you, so you de-aged yourself in hopes of capturing the attention of Harry and having a second chance at love."

"Albus is _gay_. Everyone knows that," Minerva groaned, but looking at the shocked expressions around the cabin, "Or maybe not."

"They have a lovely quote from Lavender," Luna sighed, a small frown marring her usually cheerful face.

"Her again?" Minerva said, eyes closed in preparation.

"She says that you have your heart set on Harry Potter, because he is considered the greatest wizard of all time, possibly more so than Dumbledore."

"How is that _lovely_," Minerva bit out, causing Luna to look up with a slightly confused expression.

"Well she worded it quite prettily. Ugly lies, but lovely words."

Minerva rolled her eyes, "I think I've heard enough. I get the idea."

Hermione took the magazine from Luna, glancing over it, "They seem to be taking a very sympathetic view, they're not vilifying you at least."

"Great, they're just painting me as the helpless pedophiliac hag."

"It could be worse," Hermione tried.

"I don't see how."

"They could be saying that you're in love with a first year?"

Minerva laughed, despite her best efforts, "Well thank goodness for that then."

Hermione smiled, "Always happy to help."

* * *

It was another three hours before they arrived at the castle, but the time wasn't disappointing at all. Minerva had been pleasantly surprised by her friends' ready acceptance of her into their circle, despite the reality of her identity.

Even Neville, the boy who had been horribly intimidated by her for seven years, had been joking with her. She didn't think anything could shock her at this point.

Stepping off the train, she took a deep breath of cold air, enjoying the feel of the January wind. Opening her eyes she stepped towards the carriages. She stumbled slightly when the broad wings of Albus' patronus suddenly spiraled around her, but smiled at the site of the beautiful bird. It quietly informed her that Albus would like to meet with her immediately following the feast.

She sighed lightly, back to business, she supposed.

* * *

"Miss. McSweeney," Albus greeted cheerfully, causing the younger witch to glare.

"You are far to amused by this entire situation," she scolded, "It's completely unseemly."

Albus laughed, "Don't worry, Minerva. I am taking the situation _incredibly_ seriously, hence calling you here so quickly. But that doesn't mean there isn't time for a bit of fun. I find that people so rarely find time for fun once they are 'grown up', you should try and do something about that."

Minerva rolled her eyes, "Naturally, that's _my_ responsibility."

"Well, you seem in the best position to enact such a change," he joked, "Are you having fun, Minerva?"

"Well it's all just been such a laugh," Minerva responded dryly.

"I'm serious," he said with a sigh, "As ludicrously out of control as this entire situation is, my primary concern is still your happiness."

Minerva sighed, thinking for a moment, "I am certainly feeling my fair share of sadness, and anger, and discontentment—but I'm also happy a lot of the time." Albus smiled widely, his eyes twinkling, "I've made friends. It's an odd experience, making new friends with students I've known for so many years, but it's happening nonetheless.

"I sat in a compartment today with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron and Ginny Weasely, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood. None of them seemed uncomfortable—save Ronald, but that I expected. They went so far as to comfort me in my worry over these articles and the rumors. They joked with me, and I admit—I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard." She stared across the room, mildly shocked as she spoke the words and realized their truth. Perhaps she was starting to fit more than she had expected.

Albus smiled softly at his oldest friend, beyond pleased that she was finding some happiness in this dark situation. "And you decided to fly after all," he added causing a mischievous grin to spread across her face.

"Yes I did," she laughed, "That is going to piss quite a few people off, I can see that already. But I love it."

"And Miss. Granger?" he asked quietly, causing her to blush.

"She's a brilliant friend," Minerva answered, dodging the implied question.

His eyes twinkled over the rims of his glasses again, and she laughed. "In all honestly, I really did want to ask about that, Minerva—I need to know what I could be getting into in regards to the press, the gossip, and the ministry," he explained. "So far, nothing has surprised me. I know the truth, I understand that everything else is lies, but I need to know if there is anything which _could_ come out unintentionally."

Minerva frowned, "Albus, don't worry. I have everything well in hand."

"Minerva, you're making me be quite forward with my questions."

Minerva raised an eyebrow, "Well if I have to find the courage to answer the questions, you can surely find the courage to ask them."

Albus sighed deeply, "Minerva, are you and Hermione Granger _involved_ romantically?"

Minerva looked directly into his eyes, knowing that it wouldn't be right to lie to him about this, "Yes," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

He paused for a moment, before a small smile greeted her, "Good."

She laughed loudly, "That's all you have to say?"

He smirked, an expression which looked out of place on his face, "Well she is a tad bit older than you, but I suppose I will let that slide," he winked, causing her to roll her eyes. "Minerva, I told you months ago, I don't want you to be alone, and she will be good for you. You are both uniquely cut, and would therefore have trouble finding people who fit at your side. I am exceptionally glad that you have chosen each other."

Minerva blushed deeply, "Thank you, Albus."

"That being said, you must do everything in your control to keep this a secret, Minerva. The press will not handle this well, not for either of you, and I don't know that I could protect you."

Minerva nodded, "I know, Albus. We're being discreet."

"Good. On to other things then," he said clapping his hands, "I am going to suspect that you will not necessarily be keen on continuing as a student much longer."

Minerva thought for a moment, "Though I'm enjoying certain aspects, if these articles affect my life the way I suspect, I doubt I will be enjoying the school much longer. And as I've already achieved a record number of NEWTS…"

Dumbledore's cringe was evident as she took a breath, and it caused her pause, "I received a letter from the Board of Governors today. They told me, in no uncertain terms, that as an eighteen year old witch you would be required to sit for your NEWT examinations again in the Spring; otherwise I am not permitted to offer you your position back."

Minerva gaped at her old friend, "But—that's ridiculous, Albus! I've been teaching here since most of them were students, how can that all suddenly not count because I'm younger?"

"I know, Minerva, I tried to argue with them. I even went down to the Ministry and tried to talk to Kingsley. Unfortunately, his hands are tied when it comes to the Governors, and mine are as well. This is a unique situation, so there is no precedent to follow. Minerva, if you want to gain employment again, you _must _graduate."

"Fine," she spit, standing quickly and beginning to pace the room. Her hands gesticulated wildly as she simpered, "I'll graduate, and I'll get top marks again, and it will all be lovely. Then I'll take their damn jobs."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, "I'm sorry I can't do more, Minerva."

She forced herself into a calm again, sitting carefully back in her seat, "It's—It's alright Albus, I know you're doing all you can do."

"There is more we need to discuss," He said hesitantly, and Minerva nodded for him to continue, "The Ministry hasn't contacted me directly yet, but Kingsley is confident they will soon. They are going to want to question you."

Minerva shut her eyes tightly, "I can handle that," she said firmly, looking back into Albus' eyes. "They can't find out about Fred and George, I won't allow it."

Albus nodded, "I am going to insist that they question you here, so that everything can be in our control. But you need to be prepared, Minerva. They won't be pleased that we kept something of this nature from them."

"I know," she agreed, "But we haven't done anything illegal, so they have no cause to take me into custody."

He removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "I'm very sorry that all of this is happening, Minerva. You should be receiving an award for the way you protected that student. Instead, you're going to be harassed and ridiculed, it isn't right. I had thought we had earned a break from all the excitement."

Minerva smiled sadly at him, "Albus, what on earth would we do with ourselves if we didn't have anything tremendously horrid happening? Read a novel? Collect muggle stamps?" He laughed lightly, "Now what else do I need to be worrying about at the moment?"

"Only one last decision to make, Minerva. We've found out who leaked your story," he sighed.

"Let me guess," she interrupted, "Her name rhymes with Bavender Down?"

He looked surprised for a moment, "How did you know?"

"She's been besotted with Ronald Weasely for several years, and is the schools biggest gossip. She would want to punish me for his attentions, and would want to try and gain notoriety for herself. Besides, she and her friends are quoted in several of the less admirable articles."

"Yes well, she apparently overheard The Fat Lady and her friend Violet discussing the matter, unbeknownst to them of course, and felt the need to share. The question is what sort of punishment you would suggest? _Technically_ speaking, she hasn't broken any rules—and she knows that, as she has been a source on numerous occasions for the Prophet and Witch Weekly."

Minerva groaned, "Can't we give her to Filch? Argus would just love to dangle a student by their ankles."

Albus smiled briefly at the comment, "Unfortunately, that wouldn't be deemed acceptable by the Governors."

"Ah, wouldn't want to upset them, now would we?" she chuckled tiredly, "Leave her be, Albus. I'll take care of it without breaking any rules, and she'll keep her mouth shut."

"Is that a good idea?"

Minerva grinned viciously, "Don't worry. I helped rewrite large portions of our handbook; I won't break a single rule."

Albus raised his hands in defeat, "We never had this conversation."

"What, the conversation about my dating my former student?" She asked innocently, "Or the one about actively withholding information from the Ministry? Or perhaps you mean the one about my plans to emotionally torment another former student?"

Albus shook his head as she laughed, completely ignoring her comments, "It is long past when an old man like me should be in bed. I assume you can find your way back to Gryffindor Common Room unseen?"

She just nodded, as he disappeared behind his own portrait. She quickly left the room behind her, and quietly made her way back to Gryffindor.

* * *

**There you are! This chapter was shameless pandering to all of my reviewers. More Fred/George (I've already planned out a couple more scenes with them), a bit more student interaction and fun banter, Some Albus/Minerva time, the various articles, and the answer to who had leaked the story to begin with! **

**See? Revewing helps! Your reviews inspired me to go backwards in the story and write an extra 5200 words! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: You wanted fluff? You've got it! Sorry to those of you who saw my promise of an update last night on Twitter. Something was up with this website and it wouldn't let me load. :-( But it's here now, and I'm planning another short update later today.**

One of my reviewers asked a good question, and I wanted to answer it here. They asked, wouldn't the student Minerva protected be able to testify that Minerva's transformation was an accident? Great question. I had _thought_ I mentioned this in the first chapter, but apparently I hadn't. My apologies, but there isn't really a way to sneakily add this in at this point. Both of the students involved were not aware of the effect the potion had on Minerva, only of the accident. But nonetheless, their memories of the accident were altered. Dumbledore's fear of this incident being made public outweighed the moral implications of modifying someone's memory. So unfortunately, neither student is available to testify to what happened.

Even if they were available, I don't think it would have helped all that much. The media seems to love listening to the gossip of teenagers when it helps their story, but we all saw how many times the Prophet and the Ministry painted Harry as a deranged young boy. For the most part, teenagers are assumed to be lying most of the time.

Enough of that though, Enjoy the update!  


* * *

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she climbed the stairs to her room, it was the third day of classes after the winter break, and things were going wonderfully for her. She had just finished Muggle Studies, and had earned a whopping 20 points for Gryffindor. It seemed she was, as usual, the only student who had actually done her reading over break. Now she was going to pick up a few books for her afternoon classes, and then have lunch with Minerva.

Entering the room her smile was quickly replaced with a frown when she saw the aforementioned girl laying in her bed, head firmly tucked beneath her pillow.

"Minerva?"

A muffled reply came from her pillow, and Hermione fought back a small smile, "Min, I can't understand a word you're saying," she chuckled. Then, adopting a more serious tone of voice, she asked, "What's going on, why are you here?"

The older witch rolled over, now staring at the ceiling. "Well there isn't really a point to my being in class, now is there?" she grumbled.

"Graduation? Success? Keeping yourself busy?" Hermione listed.

"Listening to the rumors which are circulating about myself…observing the perplexed faces of my colleagues when I turn in my homework," Minerva finished. "There's no point, Hermione. I already did this. Everyone _knows_ I already did this. I might as well quit while I'm ahead and take advantage of some extra time for napping."

Hermione frowned, sitting beside Minerva on the bed. "Has it really been that bad?" she asked.

"Well you were there for potions," Minerva groaned. "You heard the rumors firsthand, got to see the snickering when Severus took points from me. That was a lovely start. After that I went to the library for my free period, and Irma outright asked me, _in front of everyone_, why I was masquerading as a student. She told me it was _uncomfortable _for everyone involved."

"Oh, Min," Hermione sighed sympathetically.

"I stayed after that, despite the ridiculous staring. I don't know exactly what I was trying to prove, but I worked on my essay for Filius. I was alright until Study Hall started. That was when Harry and Ron refused to sit or speak with me."

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed. She thought that the boys had settled all of that before returning to school. Harry certainly hadn't held any ill will towards Minerva, he had apparently guessed around the same time Hermione had, and had even known when he suggested that Minerva had feelings for Hermione.

He was just happy to have his suspicions confirmed.

Ron had been less easy. Despite Minerva obvious disinterest, he had genuinely felt something for her, and had fed himself some sort of delusional hope that she was interested in him. He felt betrayed, humiliated, and less than slightly disgusted. It certainly hadn't helped that his siblings had teased him relentlessly throughout the week following Christmas.

Eventually he had calmed down enough to be in the same room as her, he had even debated the Cannon's newly drafted keeper the day before they returned, but apparently something had changed.

Minerva just sighed, "I think Harry wanted to talk to me, he looked sorry," she explained, "But Ron refused, and then he started gossiping about me to Seamus and Dean."

"That stupid pig-headed git. I'm sorry, Min. He doesn't think sometimes," Hermione huffed.

"I think that people have been giving him a hard time. I mean, he wasn't exactly subtle about his interest in me."

"That doesn't excuse his behavior, you haven't done anything wrong!"

Minerva just shook her head, "I don't blame him. I had thought you would react similarly when you found out. It _is_ uncomfortable. Everyone acts as if I don't realize that. I'm a 65 year old woman living with a bunch of teenagers. That's horribly uncomfortable! But what am I supposed to do?" Minerva asked, clawing her fingers through her hair, "Albus wants me to continue on, he's concerned that because of my technical age I could have difficulties finding employment if I don't complete my NEWTS again. He said that the board of governors would argue against my employ, which is ridiculous on its own. I just don't want to be here anymore, I can't seem to make myself _care_."

"Minerva," Hermione said gently, "I know you want to give up, but you _have_ to keep fighting."

"I know, I just don't _want_ to. Unfortunately, if I'm going to be stuck in this damnable body, I'm going to have to completely start over again."

"Hey," Hermione smiled, running a hand through the distressed girl's hair. "I happen to be rather fond of that damnable body."

Minerva smiled lightly, "At least one of us is."

"I'm sorry today is so terrible, Minerva," she said quietly.

Minerva rolled over quietly, kissing the palm of Hermione's hand before holding it firmly. "It's not your fault; you're one of the only people who isn't causing me problems."

"I could talk to Ron," she offered.

Minerva just shook her head, "It wouldn't help, he'll come around or he won't. Ron was always a good kid, and we had certainly become friends, but we weren't close. I don't really miss him; I would just like it if one less person was wandering around quoting that damned article and talking about me."

Hermione cringed, "They've been quoting it?"

"Oh yes," Minerva said with pursed lips, "Not to my face, of course, because I'm still their petrifying hag of a professor, but from behind bookshelves in the library, or in the bathroom, they have no problem rambling on about me."

Minerva laid her head back against her pillow, sighing heavily.

Hermione didn't know what to do. The articles hadn't been that bad, not really. Fred and George hadn't been mentioned, and the potion was discussed as some light hearted prank gone wrong, rather than the powerful elixir that it was. Still, none of that changed the fact that Minerva had been "masquerading" as an eighteen year old girl, and living among her students for months. They felt violated and betrayed, and none of them were comfortable being around her.

Simultaneously, the professors didn't know how to react. They were awkward in their classes, and seemed to feel as if they were going to be judged on their teaching. They looked at Minerva as if she was a spy, and they all felt that Dumbledore should have trusted them enough to inform them of the fact that Minerva was present in their classes.

Minerva didn't know it, but several of the quidditch players had even approached Harry, trying to get her banned from the team. Thank goodness Harry had more sense. He had told them off, telling them if they wanted to have a _winning _team, they needed Minerva, and to get over themselves. They didn't argue too much after that—granted, rumor had it that the Harpies were interested in recruiting her, so the other players really couldn't argue her talent.

Lavender had tried to approach Hermione, apparently not realizing that her quotes towards the press would aggravate her so much. She had left with a black eye. The bint had actually had the nerve to ask Hermione if it "_hurt her feelings that an old hag like McG could get guys, but she couldn't_." Hermione couldn't say that she was exactly proud of hitting Lavender—she had been raised not to use violence as a solution to a problem—but it had certainly felt good. Nearly as good as punching Malfoy in her third year.

When she had told Ginny about the _conversation_ the youngest Weasely had been overcome with giggles—whether this was because Hermione had hit someone, or because Ron's interest in Minerva had been mentioned, Hermione didn't know. But Ginny did tell her that she should be proud, and that "_that cow has been looking to be punched for years now._"

Minerva had been promising wonderful vengeance on the empty-headed Gryffindor, but she hadn't yet had the opportunity to implement her plan.

Hermione wanted to find _some_ way to cheer Minerva up, and suddenly and idea came to her. It wouldn't be easy to do on a day like today, but it would be worth it in the end. "I have an idea," she whispered after a moment, she was sure that she could pull it all off. She wasn't considered the smartest witch of her age for nothing. "Grab your cloak."

Minerva groaned loudly, "Hermione, you're wonderful, really, but I don't _want_ to do anything. Can't I just lie here for a while?"

"Nope," Hermione said with a hopeful smile, "We have Charms in an hour, and that should be a good class. Professor Flitwick recognized you right away, remember? So he won't be treating you any differently, and we're doing Protean Charms, so neither of us will be having any difficulty. Until that time, we're going to have an adventure."

"Hermione," Minerva whined, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from laughing.

"Are you, the great Minerva McGonagall, really going to run away from a possible adventure?" Hermione asked, causing Minerva to glare at her, "It's not _really_ an adventure, more of an outing really."

"You're not going to leave me be, are you?" Hermione shook her head, and Minerva sighed. "Fine. Lead the way Granger."

Hermione grinned, "Meet me in front of the Great Hall in five minutes, alright?" Minerva nodded, and Hermione shot off down the stairs, causing the older witch to chuckle.

* * *

When Minerva arrived at the Great Hall, she found Hermione waiting for her by the doors, bouncing lightly on her feet and holding a large picnic basket. "Are you ready?" she grinned.

"What exactly are you planning?" Minerva asked, following Hermione out the front doors.

Hermione laughed as she plowed through the thick snow on the grounds. "I feel like the basket should have made that fairly obvious."

"Well, I was assuming that you weren't planning a picnic in three feet of snow," Minerva said with a laugh.

"Are we witches, or aren't we?" Hermione asked, her smile never fading. "Honestly, I just thought you could use some time away from all of the other students and the whispering, and I would love a chance to show you a smidgeon of affection outside of our room. It's winter and, as you pointed you, a person would have to be barmy to be wandering around in this mess. Sounded like the perfect opportunity for me."

Minerva just shook her head, "You're insane."

"You have no faith in me!" Hermione laughed as she trudged through the blizzard. After five minutes Hermione stopped. "Close your eyes," she requested, and Minerva did so without question.

She listened as Hermione lightly weaved magic around them, her voice melodious against the harshly blowing wind. When asked to open them again, Minerva couldn't stop a gasp from escaping.

Hermione had put them into a snow globe—or at least that's what it felt like. She had created a space about the size of a small room. A light shield surrounded them, keeping the wind and snow from entering, and yet they could still see the snow falling quickly around them and the ice moving on the surface of the lake. Hermione had even cast a soft warming charm, making the entire area feel as if it was early in the fall, rather than the middle of January.

In the middle of their sanctuary, Hermione had laid out a large red blanket with gold and orange embroidery, ever the Gryffindor. At each corner of the blanket sat a jar containing one of Hermione's famous bluebell flames, and in the center of the blanket sat a small feast of sandwiches, crisps, fruit, and cider.

It certainly wasn't fancy, but it was the most singularly romantic thing that Minerva had ever seen. All this to cheer her up? To give them a moment alone?

"Hermione," Minerva gasped, glancing towards her worrying partner.

"Do you like it?" she asked nervously, and Minerva's smile grew.

"I love it."

"I know it isn't anything fancy, I didn't have a lot of time, but I knew the spells and I thought—"

"I love it," Minerva interrupted.

"Really?"

Minerva turned towards Hermione and grabbed her hand, pulling the smaller woman towards her. She kissed her softly, sighing as Hermione wrapped her arms around her neck, pulling them ever so slightly closer. "Hermione," she whispered, her arms wrapped firmly around her waist, "This is perfect, and romantic, and more than I could have hoped for. Thank you."

Hermione leaned her head against Minerva's smiling intoxicatingly, "I just wanted to cheer you up. You haven't been smiling _nearly _enough lately."

They pulled apart slightly, but their hands stayed carefully weaved together as Hermione pulled Minerva towards the blanket, "Technically, there are several more sandwiches in the basket—I wanted to make sure there was something you liked," she blushed.

Minerva shook her head slightly, "You really are perfect, you know that?" Hermione just blushed in response as they dished out the food.

"It's not perfection, it's effort. Trying is such a rarity these days, that everyone mistakes it for perfection."

"Perfection." Minerva insisted. Hermione huffed slightly, but smiled nonetheless. "Speaking of being _too _perfect, wasn't _I_ supposed to be the one taking _you_ on a date, Miss. Granger?"

Hermione blushed darkly, "I didn't mean to do that, you know this doesn't have to count as a date. I really was just trying to give you some space to breath for lunch."

Minerva kissed Hermione again, "It's a date, a perfect date."

She smiled at the look of ridiculous cheer on Hermione's face, "You really do want to date me," she said quietly.

Minerva nodded, "You're only just figuring this out?"

"No," Hermione said, a small smile in place. "But I'm still surprised by it."

Minerva snorted, "You think _you're _surprised."

Swatting her lightly Hermione grinned again, "You know what I mean. You could tell from the second day that I was hooked; it wasn't as if I was overly subtle. But you—I never thought you could see me that way, _ever._ I just feel very lucky, Min."

Minerva nodded; she understood what Hermione meant perfectly. She had certainly never expected to be in this situation. And yet, she really was happy with Hermione—indescribably so. Her older self was voicing its objections far less often, and her younger self seemed far more content. While she was _obviously_ having trouble dealing with the ramifications of being outed, she was genuinely alright with being this age. She was even finding it easier to control her temper and her constantly fluctuating emotions, now that she wasn't fighting against her hormones.

Things were far from perfect, but Hermione was.

* * *

**Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the fluff. If you are interested in hearing more about updates, other things I'm working on, my writing process, or discussing the story with me personally, consider following me on Twitter. LadyChristineM There is also a link on my profile. **

**Thank you for all your magnificent reviews, and have a great day!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Well this started out as a short bit of humor which didn't really fit anywhere else (I still consider the first portion to almost be it's own chapter, but it's here nonetheless!) Then someone mentioned Malcolm, and Ginny started fluttering around my brain, and suddenly it became another 3000 words. So much for a second small update... I hope you all enjoy! And thank you for all of the reviews, and the excitable tweeting. You all definitely inspired this. Thanks especially to MegaNerdAlert who brought my brain straight into the clutches of Malcolm. Without that review I would have left a gaping hole in my story. So thanks!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Lavender Brown was having a bad week.

It had begun with something simple—her homework. Every night she would hastily write her essays and complete her assignments, and every night she would carefully tuck them into her bag. But no matter how many times she double checked her bag, the homework never seemed to make it all the way to the classroom. She had already earned two detentions for failing to bring in her assignments.

She was far from pleased, and had even stopped speaking to Pavarti, convinced that her friend was the one who had misplaced her work after borrowing it.

But then other things started happening. After the homework, it was her shoes. They began to systematically disappear from her closet. On Monday she hadn't been able to find her favorite pair of heels, then her trainers on Tuesday. By Thursday so many were missing that she had ended up having to badly transfigure a pair of socks into clogs.

It wasn't until someone had stealthily hit her with a bat-bogey hex during lunch on Wednesday that she began to suspect some sort of conspiracy. The shoes and homework could be explained away, or considered a simple prank, but only one student was capable of that powerful of a bat-bogey hex—and only one student had been trained in stealth by the Weasely Twins.

"Ginny!" she screeched, causing the younger witch to look up in surprise. "I know this was you!"

"Oh Lavender!" Ginny said, an air of fake surprise in her voice, "What happened to your face?"

She stomped her foot petulantly, "You know _exactly_ what happened to my face, Ginny. Now undo it!"

Ginny frowned, "Sorry Lav, it wasn't me. Though I may know of a face cream that could help, if you need it."

Ginny turned back to her conversation, a small smiled peeking out from under her innocent facade, and Lavender whined in humiliation before hurrying from the hall, a book placed in front of her face.

* * *

At that point, Lavender began to tread more carefully. She watched for possible pranks around every corner and was careful to check her food for any sort of tampering.

Unfortunately, she trusted her WonderWitch products unquestioningly, and didn't notice the slight change in label when she received her newest shipment. Stepping out of the shower on Friday morning she found that her hair had been dyed an outrageous Orange, with bright purple polka dots scattered throughout.

After her initial screaming had quieted down, Pavarti had assured her that she knew a spell to fix it, but with every wave of her wand the damage simply became worse until Lavender was eventually forced to go to class with her, now, green and pink zebra striped hair.

At the end of that day she had approached Hermione, an exceptionally sour expression clashing with her sensational hair. "Hermione," she said quietly, causing the girl in question to look up from her books. "I—I was wondering if you knew anything about hair charms."

Hermione smiled kindly, "I actually know quite a bit. It takes no small amount of work to tame my hair, when I'm feeling in the mood."

Lavender sighed in relief, having been worried that Hermione would still be sore over her comments in those articles. She sat down next to her classmate, "I ordered my usual shampoo, but didn't notice that someone had tampered with the bottle before it was delivered. Now my hair is stuck like this, and every time I try to remove the charm, it just changes shade and pattern!" she cried, "It's humiliating. Everyone is whispering about me, and laughing! You can't imagine."

Hermione tilted her head slightly, resting a comforting hand on Lavender's shoulder. "I _completely _understand, Lav. And I know how difficult it must be. Weirdly enough, I've been in that situation several times. Several girls from my classes have felt the need to talk about me in the newspapers. Spreading nasty rumors from time to time; it's absolutely abysmal to deal with."

Lavender paled slightly.

"But you know what's worse?" Hermione continued, her expression darkening, "Seeing one of your _friends_ deal with the same thing. It really is tough, Lavender."

"You—you did this?" She whispered, shock evident in her tone, "But, you—you're head girl! You never break the rules!"

Hermione smirked slightly, "I didn't do this, Lav. I _wish_ I had done this. Unfortunately, Minerva asked our friends to leave you alone, and I respected that. Though… it seems I was the only one. It's really quite unfortunate, I had the great plan—it was going to be like Marietta from fifth year, but so much more horrible."

"She asked you _not_ to harass me?"

Hermione nodded, "Naturally. She said she wanted to deal with things herself at some point, but that she didn't want the entire wrath of the _former DA_ to come raining down on you. She didn't think that sounded fair."

Lavender frowned, "But you're not going to help me?"

Hermione laughed, "Oh, certainly not. I may not be able to punish you myself, but I wouldn't dare tamper with that hair. It's so fitting for you."

* * *

It was nearing midnight on Friday, and Lavender was quietly slipping through the portrait hole. She had snuck into the prefect's bathroom, hoping that the stronger tap may help to wash away whatever potion had done this. She hadn't had any luck, but the bath had helped her to relax at least.

As she carefully treaded towards the girls' staircase she suddenly stopped, noticing two glowing eyes in the darkness. A small whimper escaped, despite her best efforts.

"Prof—Professor McGonagall," she whispered, "Is that you?"

A hiss came from across the room, followed by the sound of feline paws darting across the room. Lavender let out another moan, no longer able to see the silent feline, but confidant that moving would not help her situation.

Suddenly, from less than a foot in front of her, Minerva transformed. "Evening, Lavender."

Lavender jumped back, "I—I'm sorry, Professor," she said quickly, trying to apologize sufficiently before she could be punished. "What I did, was very _very _wrong."

"Too late," Minerva bit out.

"But—"

"Silence," she commanded, and Lavender quieted immediately. "Miss. Brown, for eight years I have put up with your _incessant_ rumor mongering and harassment. You have passed confidential information into the hands of the Prophet so many times that they should be _paying_ you. But I have never been able to do anything, because you haven't technically broken any rules."

Lavender seemed to relax slightly, "So—so I can't be punished?"

Minerva smirked. "Improper verb tense, Miss. Brown. You _couldn't _be punished. I was a professor, my hands were tied."

"But—"

"If you recall, I am no longer a professor. I am an eighteen year old girl, and hexing you into oblivion wouldn't be the first rule I've broken since becoming one."

"I won't do it again, I'm sorry!" At this point Lavender had backed herself up against a couch, and Minerva stepped uncomfortably close.

"I am not going to punish you this time, Miss. Brown—it seems several of my comrades have already done that. But if you do this again—"

"I won't!"

"Miss. Brown, do you remember your fourth year at this school? When the imposter Alastor Moody transfigured Draco Malfoy into a ferret?" She nodded slowly, her eyes wide. "If you recall, I stopped him. I told him that we _never _use Transfiguration as a form of punishment."

"Yes," she whispered.

"I find that my opinion has changed slightly, Miss. Brown. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lavender nodded.

"Good," Minerva bit out. "I hope you have a pleasant evening, Miss. Brown."

As she disappeared from sight, up the stairs and into her room, Lavender slumped against the couch, breathing a sigh of relief.

'_Yes'_ she thought to herself, _'I'm having a _very_ bad week.'_

* * *

"I'll stay here," Hermione said stubbornly, sipping her orange juice at breakfast. Minerva had just declined to go to Hogsmeade with she and Harry and Ron.

"No, you won't."

"Yes, we'll go to the library, or play scrabble!" Hermione said, the artificial brightness in her voice causing Minerva to cringe.

"Hermione, you haven't been out of the Castle in over a week. And you haven't spent time with just Harry and Ron in ages."

"But I want to spend time with _you_," she said softly, causing Minerva to smile.

"And you will, but take the day and go to Hogsmeade."

"Are you sure you won't come along?"

"Hermione," Minerva responded quietly, "I'm getting enough stares around here. It's been a long two weeks, and a day of lying low and reading in our room sounds marvelous."

Hermione sighed heavily, "Alright, but you'll have dinner with me tonight?"

Minerva smiled, "Well, I was thinking about eating my socks—but I suppose I could come to the Great Hall instead."

Hermione chuckled, "Okay, okay. I can take a hint." She stood up, a piece of toast in hand, and lent towards her, causing Minerva to quickly pull her into a hug.

"Yea, have a great day with the boys," she said loudly, causing Hermione to blush. They both knew what she had almost done—in the middle of the Great Hall, no less.

"See ya," Hermione whispered, her face a burning scarlet.

Minerva watched the young girl leave the room, and couldn't contain a slight chuckle. "She's rather dreadful at hiding it, isn't she?" a voice laughed from across the table. Minerva looked over quickly, calming when she saw that it was just Ginny. Apparently noticing the slight panic in her expression, Ginny smiled, "Don't worry, my lips are sealed. And I don't think anyone else has noticed—though no one else heard you screaming at my brothers over Christmas."

Minerva smiled slightly, "Thanks, Ginny. And no, she's absolute rubbish at it. I adore the girl, but you would think after all of her adventures with Harry she would know how to be subtle."

Ginny shrugged, "Snape would blame it on our being tactless Gryffindors."

Minerva's lips pursed at that, "Indeed."

"She's just excited, Minerva. Give her a chance to get used to things, she'll get better," Ginny advised. She looked thoughtful for a moment, before continuing. "Hermione, she hasn't ever gotten much attention, not in _that_ way. And for someone who looks like _you_, who she has also idolized for _eight _years, to pay her the kind of attention you are—it means a lot to her. She's rather walking on air right now. I don't doubt for a moment that she would stay hidden forever if it meant keeping your heart, but that doesn't stop the fact that she is young and in love and dying to share that fact with the entire universe. Sometimes instinct takes over."

Minerva smiled shyly, "I feel the same way," she said. "It's just lucky that one of us knows how to control our hormones."

Ginny snorted, "You're not exactly perfect, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you practically glow whenever she walks into a room, and your eyes glaze over whenever she performs particularly advanced magic."

"Oh," Minerva said, her face heating up again.

"And you watch her when she reads," Ginny said with a smile, "Most girls watch the boys play quidditch with that expression on their faces, yet you watch her read."

Minerva chuckled, "Well what's so impressive about playing quidditch? Finding a person who loves books is much more difficult than finding a boy with a broom."

"Very true," Ginny agreed.

Minerva smiled, "I think I'm going to go back to my room and study, but thanks for the chat Ginny."

"Anytime. You—you know that I'm not like Ron, right?" She asked suddenly, her face nervous. "I mean, I know we aren't as close as you are with Harry or Hermione, but I don't mind that you are—or used to be—my professor. I really enjoy having you around."

Minerva beamed, "I know, I feel the same, Ginny." Minerva walked away then, a light smile on her face. She hadn't planned to have any sort of heart to heart with the younger Gryffindor woman, but she was glad they had. It was nice to know that someone else understood and accepted her and Hermione. Heck, it was good to know someone else accepted _her_.

* * *

Reaching the common room Minerva waived awkwardly at a couple of the students who just stared back at her, before hurrying into her room. Entering her room she muttered irritably under her breath, "It's just rude to stare at people like that, if they would just tell me off, I wouldn't care. But all the damnable _staring_."

As she tossed her robes onto the bed she heard a soft hoot from the window, causing her to visibly jump. Glancing behind her she saw a sturdy barred owl sitting in her window, red and brown flecks scattered throughout its feathers. As she looked at it the owl clipped its beak and shook its feathers, allowing a fair amount of snow to scatter off, and clearly saying, _'I'm cold, open the damned window.'_

Opening the window slightly, but not allowing the bird access yet, she glared. "Do I want to know how you gained access to the dormitory?" she asked sternly. The owl clipped its beak again, this time closer to Minerva, as if threatening to nip her. She frowned, "You could have just sent a letter," she sighed, stepping away from the window.

The owl drifted through quickly, taking a quick flutter around the room before dropping to the ground. Minerva closed the window tightly, and by the time she had turned around the owl was gone. In its place stood an intimidating man, standing nearly six feet four inches, with broad limbs and long auburn hair. The hair was tied back and lay neatly over a set of emerald robes with black fastenings.

Most people would have been put off by him at first site, he would have made an intimidating specimen—had it not been for the fact that he was now bent over, loud laughter echoing about the room. "You're—you're tiny," he wheezed, causing Minerva to glare fiercely.

"I am _not_ tiny, thank you. I'm the same height I've ever been."

"Perhaps," he said, finally containing himself to a soft chuckle and an amused grin, "But you're practically a twig, and you're slouching. I can't remember the last time I saw you _slouch_."

Minerva sat down on her bed, straightening her back exaggeratedly. "I seem to have picked up a fair number of bad habits recently."

"So I've read," he laughed, perching himself on the edge of Hermione's bed. "You know, you could have at least written. I know I'm a bit of a hermit, but that doesn't mean I don't read the prophet like anyone else."

Minerva smiled slightly, "Sorry, Malcolm. I honestly didn't think, things have been a bit hectic."

He grinned again, "Obviously. But you couldn't even write your big brother?"

"You're _not _my big brother."

"You're eighteen—I'm 57, sounds like I'm your big brother Minnie."

"You will _always_ be the little one—goodness knows you act like it. And don't use that abhorrent name."

"Gonna turn me into a newt again?"

"Perhaps," she said, a mischievous smirk in place.

"I shouldn't have gone with you to see that film," he laughed, and she stuck out her tongue.

Looking at her closely, he lost some of the smile he had been sporting since arrival, finally appraising her seriously. "Now really Min, what's going on? Is it all the papers said?"

She sighed, "The prophet was pretty straight forward."

"So you're eighteen? And you can't get back?"

She shook her head, "I'm stuck this way. I'm going to age, but I'm starting at eighteen again."

"Wow."

Minerva laughed lightly, "You're telling me." She couldn't help but appreciate Malcolm's simplicity at that point. Most people asked her a whole barrage of questions, understandably. But Malcolm was simple. _Is it true? _Yes. _Okay then._

"So what are you planning on doing now?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Minerva smiled slightly; he looked like their father when he made that expression. A natural jokester and indescribably arrogant, she rarely saw him _worried_ about anything. He generally just fluctuated between amused and determined.

"I'm going to graduate," she said, shrugging. "Then I suppose I'll start teaching again. I mean, I loved it for nearly fifty years, why shouldn't I love it again?"

He nodded slightly, "I suppose that would be logical."

Minerva frowned, she knew that tone of voice. "But?"

"_But_ you have a chance to experience the world again; wouldn't you like to try something new?"

"I've fought in two wars. I've traveled the world more than once. I have two masteries, numerous awards, and more money than I know what to do with. What else could I want to do?" she asked seriously, "I mean, sure I considered trying to play Quidditch—but I don't really want that level of celebrity, and I _like_ teaching."

He pursed his lips for a moment, considering her words, "Try not to hex me, Min—but what about family?'

Her eyebrows shot up, "What?"

"I mean, I know you love your books and research. And I know you love teaching. But you're always locked away in the castle, and it's not like there are many eligible partners around—unless you fancy Snape…"

"Ew."

"Exactly," he laughed, "I'm not saying give up your whole life, but wouldn't that be something worth pursuing this time around? You have another chance and, well I know that you've been lonely Min, I pay attention, don't I?"

She blushed darkly, "I haven't shut myself off to possibility," she said quietly, glancing at the picture that Hermione had next to her bed. It was of her and the boys.

Glancing back at Malcolm she saw him grinning, "Minnie's got a crush on a student?"

"Oh won't you be quiet?" she snapped, causing him to just grin further. She could make nearly anyone blanch when she glared at them the way she was toward Malcolm, and yet he just smiled back amusedly. He had always been immune, even as a small child.

"So who is it? You were glancing at that picture, weren't you? One of the golden trio?"

She rolled her eyes, "All three despise that nickname."

"So does this person _know_?" he asked.

"Yes, they are aware of the situation," she snapped again.

"Oh sweet Merlin, you're dating a student aren't you?"

"No!"

"You are! That's why you're blushing so much, and trying to get me to quiet!" Minerva just snapped her mouth closed, crossing her legs in front of her, and staring determinately at the wall. Malcolm continued to smile, "Oh I always liked this game—though I don't have your diary to help me guess this time."

"I don't keep a diary anymore, you nitwit."

"Why not, you're eighteen aren't you?"

"And you're acting like a twelve year old. Honestly Malcolm!"

He ignored her entirely, moving fully onto the bed and leaning back against Hermione's pillows. Minerva shook her head slightly, she hoped Hermione wouldn't mind. She would have hoped her younger brother had better manners than to lounge on someone else's bed.

As a young man, he had always acted older than he was. In school he had helped his fellow students, received top marks, and had been a prefect. If it wasn't for his affinity for sarcastic remarks and the occasional prank, he would have ended up Head Boy—the Headmaster had told them all as much. Malcolm had taken care of their brother Robert endlessly, and had been a top Auror for nearly ten years.

But after Robert was killed, Malcolm had seemingly given up. Not on life—he had found a new determination in him to live every day in the most worthwhile way possible. No, he had given up on responsibility. He retired early and began traveling the world.

Robert stayed far away from the Isles and was rarely in contact, but he seemed to be happy. They saw each other on occasion, and each time his smile seemed broader than the last. It had been several years since they last saw each other face to face, and it seemed he was even more laid back than before.

Watching him lounge across Hermione's bed, she couldn't help but wonder if _he _was the one who had been deaged. He was 57 years old, and yet looked no more than 35. His hair was long, his robes were fitted, and his eyes were twinkling.

Maybe she should be taking lessons from him.

Drawing her out of her thoughts, he began mulling over her romantic interests loudly, "Well they would have to be smart—more than smart, completely brilliant. And stubborn enough to fight you from time to time. Someone with a keen sense of humor, and a rebellious streak, but who doesn't feel the need to make a scene. They would have to be advanced, to catch your interest this soon after the transformation."

Minerva scowled at him, he knew her far too well. Still, he was missing one key clue to solving his puzzle. "And naturally, they would have to be a woman," he grinned, glancing towards her. He knew that he was going to catch her off guard, and wanted to see her reaction.

Well, she hadn't disappointed. Still sitting in her well poised position, she had suddenly lost her balance and toppled to the floor, making him laugh loudly, "I forgot how long it took you to become graceful."

She growled at him as she stood up, dusting off her jeans, "You surprised me, jerk."

"What, you thought that over the last 57 years I hadn't noticed that my _little _sister was leering at all of the same women I was?"

"I do not leer!" she objected, causing him to snort.

"You really, really, do." She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry Min, I've known for years. Robert knew too. We never cared, and I still don't."

She studied her hands carefully as she whispered, "Thanks, Mal."

"So, all that being said," he smiled, returning to his previous mood. "There is really only one guess as to who it is you're dating at Hogwarts."

"Malcolm," she said warningly.

Just then, Hermione bound into the room chattering excitedly, "I'm back early! I missed you, and Ron was being a complete arse, as usual. So how was your—" she stopped suddenly, her eyes on the man who was sitting on her bed.

"Speak of the devil and she will appear," he said smiling charmingly. He moved from her bed quickly. "I'm very sorry for commandeering your bed; I was just visiting with Minerva. Malcolm McGonagall, at your service." He finished his introduction with a little bow, and Hermione just gaped at him, her mouth moving comically.

"I—well—Hello, lovely to meet you," she stuttered, glancing quickly between the siblings. "I'm sorry; I'm just a bit surprised. I didn't expect anyone to be visiting."

"Neither was I," Minerva promised.

"Well, Minerva somehow forgot to tell her brother that she had reverted to being an eighteen year old girl, so I thought it was worth popping by."

Hermione shook her head, "I don't blame you. Finding out about something like that from the papers."

Minerva rolled her eyes, "Grand, now you're both against me." Malcolm grinned mischievously before taking Hermione's hand and kissing it.

"I'm so very pleased to meet you as well, Miss. Granger. I've heard quite a bit about you over the years, from papers, and Minerva of course, but you are certainly more charming in reality."

Hermione stared at him wide eyed and surprised, as Minerva rolled her eyes, "Lay off the charm, Malcolm."

"I can help it, Minnie, it comes naturally," he smirked, "Don't worry; unlike you I have _no _interest in dating people half my age. I won't steal her away."

Minerva threw her pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the jaw. He groaned slightly, and then looked back at Hermione, "I always forget that she's a chaser."

"You're being an idiot, Malcolm."

He smiled towards her, "You're just mad because I guessed on my first try. I've always been good at guessing her romantic interests, she's rather obvious," he whispered towards Hermione conspiratorially.

Hermione looked at Minerva confused, "I thought that you said no one knew about your... interests?"

Malcolm laughed, "As I said, she's obvious."

"Sorry, dear. I hope you don't mind him knowing, I couldn't really stop him."

"Certainly not," he replied, "I'm surprised it took the age jump."

"Malcolm, I would never!" Minerva argued.

"Hermione, this woman mentioned you in nearly every letter she wrote me. Granted, she didn't write many. But any time she talked about her students she inevitably mentioned the brilliant muggleborn witch who was going to guarantee Gryffindor the house cup."

Hermione beamed at him, then turned towards a blushing Minerva, "Don't worry Min, I was just as terrible. If I recall during my first month of school I talked about you so incessantly that Ron told me that I should just _'go off and marry you'_."

"Well that seems a bit rushed, doesn't it?" Malcolm asked, causing Hermione to laugh fearfully.

"I was—I was only joking!" she squeaked.

"Hermione, ignore him entirely. He's just trying to embarrass you."

"Alas, she tells the truth. I'm sorry dear; I just had to know how well you would stand up to some good old fashioned teasing."

Hermione calmed immediately, and then smirked, "I spend all of my holidays with the Weasely twins, of Weasely Wizard Wheezes. With all due respect, there are very few things which can embarrass me now," she laughed. "Surprise me, certainly. But not embarrass me!"

Malcolm laughed, "Well I certainly approve of you. When I realized she was having a tryst with one of the Golden Trio, I had hoped it would be you. You are by _far_ the most attractive," he winked.

"I don't know," Hermione grinned, "Harry's eyes are rather reminiscent of freshly pickled toads."

Malcolm and Minerva both fell into a fit of laughter. "Well, I've seen what I needed too," He smiled, "You're gonna be just fine Minerva."

She smiled lightly in response, "I think so."

He moved across the room and gave her a half hug, "You know I can't stay," he said quietly, and she nodded in response.

"You never can."

"I just needed to know you were alright. Remember what I said about starting over," he said seriously, and Minerva nodded, "And keep in touch, okay? Write me letters a bit more often?"

Minerva found herself throwing her arms around him, "I'm really glad you came to see me, Malcolm."

He kissed her on the top of the head, "I'm always here if you need me, Min."

He shot Hermione a look, "I'm smarter than to suggest that Minerva needs anyone to take care of her—but you'll be there?" Hermione nodded seriously. "Good. You can write me as well, anytime. Merlin knows you may need help deciphering the enigma which is Minerva Gwendolyn McGonagall!"

She nodded lightly, and with a final glance towards Minerva he transformed back into his owl form, causing Hermione to gasp happily. Minerva opened the window quickly, and after another turn around the room, he zoomed out.

"So that was Malcolm…" Hermione said lightly, shaking her head. "Your biography in _Hogwarts, A History _didn't do him justice."

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you that he would be here, Malcolm lives by his own rules. I had no idea he was coming until he was tapping on the window."

Hermione glanced towards the window with a concerned expression, "It's fine, really. He seems wonderful, I'm sorry he had to leave so quickly—I hope he didn't feel unwelcome."

Minerva smiled lightly, "Don't worry, he liked you. He just—well he has trouble spending any amount of time in one place, or with one person."

"Even you?"

Minerva nodded, "Me most of all. With the rest of the family gone—and especially after Robert—it's just hard for him. He loves me, and I him. And I know that he would be here in a flash if I ever needed him—but he keeps his distance."

"Well I'm glad I got to meet him," Hermione said, smiling softly. "He reminds me of the twins, or Sirius perhaps." She toyed with her hands nervously, "You really think he liked me?" she whispered unsurely, "And that he isn't upset about us?"

Minerva smiled widely, "I never thought any member of my family could accept that part of me—I mean, we were raised pretty strictly catholic. But he was thrilled for me, and thinks you're perfect for me." She blushed for a moment before quietly saying, "I tend to agree with him."

Hermione beamed, approaching Minerva at the bed. She sat down across from her before saying thoughtfully, "You know—I could very easily see myself falling in love with you Minerva."

Minerva looked into Hermione's eyes, "I feel the same—and that scares me a bit," she whispered honestly.

"Me too," she answered, closing the distance between them and running a hand along her jaw. Hermione had never much believed in the concept of _butterflies_, not in terms of romance and kisses and such. Yet from the first moment that Hermione's lips had shyly brushed against Minerva's, she had become a believer.

They had kissed before, but as their tongues tangled together in teasing synchronicity, Hermione found she couldn't contain the purring moan she released as her fingertips danced across Minerva's back, pulling her closer. And as she felt the soft feminine curves which pressed against her, she suddenly found herself fully comprehending the true magic which was _butterflies._

* * *

**There you go! Now be patient for another update later in the week! **

**Thank you so much for reading, and please do continue to review. Every thought you give me adds more to this story, and often times I listen to your suggestions!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I really try to have several chapters in wait at all times, just in case I hit a particularly stubborn bit of writers block. I just finished writing chapter fifteen, and I'm not patient enough to hold this any longer. I hope you all enjoyed the lighthearted fluff break, because it's time for a bit of reality to set in...**

Thank you all for your review and for reading. It completely warms my heart and inspires my pen!

* * *

Isn't it always the moment when you least expect it? It's those moments when you feel truly free, when the wind is dancing through your robes as you sing lightly under your breath—those are the moments when the terrible things creep in through the cracks in your defense.

And that's how it happened.

It was March 1st, and for the first time in a month, it wasn't snowing. In fact, it was uncharacteristically warm and as the Hogwarts students traipsed down the worn path to Hogsmeade many of them pulled off their heavy cloaks and hats, shrinking them down to the size of galleons before stowing them in their pockets. A cold breeze ruffled their hair and caused their breath to freeze, but the sun was so undeniably refreshing that the students couldn't find it in themselves to care.

Harry, Hermione, and Minerva were no exception. They laughed in the wind as they stumbled through the doors of the Three Broomsticks, excited from a day free of studying or practice. They had shopped for sweets, and visited the owls at the post. Afterwards they decided to grab lunch before the girls disappeared in search of a new book or two.

Ron had planned on going with them, having finally gotten over his anger towards Minerva. He wasn't entirely comfortable still, but Hermione had made it clear that their former professor wasn't _going _anywhere and that if Ron wanted to spend time with his two best friends, he would have to look kinder on the other witch.

Hermione had nearly cried when he started eating dinner with them again, and Harry had felt a keen sense of relief as their quidditch practices lost the tense atmosphere which had plagued the month following Minerva's reveal.

Unfortunately, the boy in question had landed himself in detention for failing to complete his homework. While Harry and Hermione missed their friend, and Minerva surely didn't celebrate his absence, his loss didn't put a damper on their spirits as they had traipsed through the small town.

"I'm just saying," Harry argued as they sat down at a booth, "I don't see why a potions NEWT is required at the Auror academy. I mean, can't they just _buy_ the potions they need?"

Minerva groaned, "Harry, open your eyes. What _else_ do you learn in potions?"

"What do you mean?"

"She means, you learn how to identify potions as well—by their scent, appearance, and texture," Hermione interjected, "That's an important skill for an auror—identifying poisons or traps, recognizing if someone is under the influence of a particular potion. A truly exceptional Auror would have been more suspicious of Professor Moody if they paid more attention in potions class."

Harry groaned, "I guess. I just hope that isn't something people are going to rely on me for, I'm hopeless—passing marks or not."

Hermione just shrugged, "I'm sure you'll be fine Harry, you're a natural with all of the other courses."

"And you _are_ the Boy who Conquered," Minerva smirked, "I doubt they'll deny you."

"But I don't want to be accepted because I'm famous; I want to be accepted because I've earned my place."

"Harry, I'm sure that you will earn the marks required to join the Aurors, but even if you don't—they wouldn't be accepting you because you're famous," Minerva chided.

"Then what would they be accepting me for?"

"They would be accepting you because you have demonstrated in numerous real-world situations that you have the potential to fight and capture dark wizards, and handle yourself maturely under dangerous circumstances," Minerva said shaking her head, "Really Harry, you are so blind sometimes."

"Hey!"

"You are still under the impression that you're famous for the same reasons you were when you were eleven," Hermione piped up, "You're not! You're famous because of the work you've put in over the years and the sacrifices you've made."

"In that case, you should be more famous than me; you were way more important Mione."

"I can't argue with that," Minerva said with a grin, causing Hermione to swat her on the shoulder.

"What did I tell you in your first year Harry? _Books and Cleverness? There are more important things, bravery—friendship," _Hermione said softly, "We have both earned our fame, whether or not we actually want anything to do with it. But don't put down all that you've done—all that you've sacrificed Harry."

Harry blushed darkly, before muttering about picking up their food and hurrying towards the bar. "You've made him speechless, dear."

Hermione shook her head, "He's never going to see just how extraordinary he is."

"And you're never going to see just how extraordinary _you_ are," Minerva argued squeezing her hand gently.

Harry laughed as he approached the table again a moment later, "You two really aren't subtle, I hope you know that," he joked, causing Minerva to blush and pull her hand away quickly.

Just as Harry set down a basket of chips and three butterbeers, two men approached their table. "Excuse me," the first interrupted, looking directly at Minerva. "Are you Minerva McGonagall?"

Minerva looked up, her eyebrows raised in surprise. She didn't recognize either of the men, though they wore the stiff black dress robes she recognized as Ministry issue.

"I am," she answered crisply, "And who are you?"

"We have orders to collect you for interrogation," the taller of the two answered, taking her elbow.

She ripped her elbow away quickly, "Kindly refrain from laying your hands on me, sir. I would like to see those orders, please."

The shorter man handed her a piece of parchment which she scanned quickly, "I hope you boys realize that it would have been _far_ more appropriate to approach me at Hogwarts with the permission of the Headmaster. He won't take kindly to you abducting one of his students from Hogsmeade."

Both men grasped an elbow and tried to lead Minerva towards the doors.

"Wait!" Hermione exclaimed, pulling Minerva away from the strangers. "According to Ministry Decree 2052, enacted in 1993, you must inform the Headmaster or mistress of Hogwarts of your intent to take a student or faculty member into custody, and in the case of students you must have his _consent_. As Head Girl, I will _not _allow you to abduct a student."

"Miss. Granger, I must ask you to step away from the Professor. That decree has no bearing on our current mission."

"The hell I will!" Hermione bristled, her wand in hand before either _professional_ could point theirs.

"Hermione," Minerva said calmly.

"No Minerva, you know I can take them both down before they can blink. Let's go back to the castle."

"Hermione," Minerva said again, "You _know_ that I'll have to talk to them eventually. I'm going. You and Harry make sure that Dumbledore knows exactly what's going on."

"But Min," Hermione said weakly, her wand faltering slightly.

"I'll see you later," Minerva said apologetically, finally allowing the two men to lead her from the Three Broomsticks.

* * *

Hermione was out the door in a matter of moments, no trace of Minerva or the Ministry men to be found. They had obviously disapparated.

"Hermione, wait!" Harry called, struggling through a crowd near the door. Coming next to her he placed a hand on her shoulder, "Are you alright."

"Not in the least," she bit out, "I've got to go find Dumbledore and get to work fixing this." She took off towards the entrance to Hogwarts, mumbling under her breath all the way. "You wouldn't think that they could _do _that, just abduct a young girl. I don't care who she _was_, she's a Hogwarts student and it isn't proper. Besides, those rumors were never actually corroborated. There was no DNA test, for all they know she _is_ Mary McSweeney."

"I don't think they do DNA tests in the wizarding world, Hermione."

"Well they should!" Hermione snapped, letting out a huff of frustration as Harry jogged behind her. "What kind of government doesn't require DNA testing before unceremoniously kidnapping an eighteen year old from a weekend outing?"

"I think they have other ways of finding that out. Wizards don't do a lot with blood," he said reasonably.

"Dammit Harry, I _know_. Have you met me? Of course I know that they don't do DNA tests, but they still haven't worked any of the necessary charms or tests on her magic or anything. They just took her!"

"But she _is_ Minerva McGonagall, so they aren't wrong."

"It doesn't matter! They shouldn't have taken her!"

"Hermione," Harry tried to stop her, "Hermione!" Finally he grabbed her, causing her to spin around. "Hermione, she's going to be okay."

Hermione shook slightly as Harry held her in place, "You don't know that, Harry. You _can't_ know that. And you and I know better than most how crooked the Ministry can be. Those were Unspeakables that took her in. _Unspeakables_. The plain black robes, with silver fastenings? That's their uniform, and they are the _only _department which isn't bound by all of the other laws of the Ministry."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, confused.

"It means that they can keep her. They can hold her indefinitely, and study her, and she may _never_ come back," Hermione said, stifling a sob. "Now I appreciate you trying to be a good friend, but if you wouldn't mind, I need less comforting and more conversation with Dumbledore right now."

She turned quickly on her heel, sprinting through the front doors of Hogwarts and ignoring the perplexed glances of her schoolmates as she ran.

When they finally reached the headmasters doorway, Hermione began spouting off various sweets impulsively and gave a sigh of relief when the gargoyle finally let her pass. Harry hurried behind her on the stairs, and waited as she knocked on the door.

"What if he isn't in, Hermione? You know he leaves the castle sometimes."

"I don't know. This is just the first place to try, if he's not here I'll find professor Flitwick, he may have an idea." Thankfully, after knocking a second time Professor Dumbledore opened the door.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. What an unexpected surprise, please come in," he said, gesturing towards the two seats in front of his desk.

Hermione frowned at the already made tea on his desk, "We don't seem unexpected, do you know why we're here?" she asked quickly.

"Alas, I'm not quite all knowing, though I was informed of your swift return to the castle and to my office. I thought I would be prepared, just in case," he said calmly, sitting behind his desk. "What brings you here today?"

"Minerva has been taken, Professor," Hermione said quickly. "We were in the Three Broomsticks when they came. Two men from the Department of Mysteries, they wanted to interrogate her—I'm assuming in regards to her accident. They ignored her when she suggested that they should have come here and spoken to you, and ignored me when I cited Decree 2052. After being shown their orders, she went with them willingly, but I don't know that she realized they were Unspeakables."

Dumbledore held up a hand to silence her, "Miss. Granger, did you happen to notice anything specific about their orders?"

Harry shook his head, "Like what, Professor."

Hermione closed her eyes in concentration, trying to remember what she had seen from behind Minerva. "I didn't see much, Professor. It was form D-480, but I don't know what that is, and I didn't see the specific orders, or their names."

Dumbledore frowned deeply, "That particular form is used to take a person into confinement. They are only used in very specific situations. Not exactly arrest, but often-times long-term interrogation."

"Wait, so Hermione is right then?" Harry asked, suddenly looking anxious, "They're going to study her, aren't they Professor?"

"That is my concern." Dumbledore said, his eyebrows furrowed uncharacteristically and a frown marring his usually calm features. "My apologies, but I must ask you to go at this time. I need to look into this further and travel to the Ministry. I will inform you once I have gathered any information of value."

"Thank you sir," Harry said quietly, standing from his seat.

Hermione stayed still, looking up at the professor. "She's counting on you professor, to get her out. You will get her out, won't you?"

Professor Dumbledore sighed, "I am certainly going to try, Miss. Granger."

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Ministry, Minerva sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. She had been in this room for little over an hour, and yet they were already repeating questions.

The two men who had taken her to the Ministry had been left behind some time ago; obviously they had yet to prove themselves as Unspeakables of this level. Naturally, you would have to be a certain caliber of wizard, and a certain level of clearance, to question the woman who had been doused with the fountain of youth.

The new witch who was questioning her had first tried to be her friend.

She _empathized_ with Minerva. How _hard_ it must be to be in her situation, how they simply wanted to help her return to her own life. Minerva had snickered at that, and commented on the woman's failed attempt at a glamour charm. She somehow doubted that a woman concerned with crowsfeet around her eyes, was the most trustworthy with a potion which could turn her back to a blushing twenty year old.

At that point, the ministry worker had turned to ice. She must have thought herself stern and intimidating, but she had obviously forgotten who had taught her to act like that.

"Mel," Minerva said quietly, interrupting the woman's questions, "May I call you Mel?"

The witch's eyebrows rose in surprise, no one was supposed to know the identities of the Unspeakables. "Short for Mellasandre Eleanor Winthrop. You were a two-minute hatstall. Observing you as a student, I suspect it was between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but you were eventually sorted into Ravenclaw. You received top marks in my class, though you always struggled with charms. Not because it was difficult, but because you considered the spell work to be inconsequential."

The unspeakable continued to gape, unsure of what her next move should be. Finally she pursed her lips, and Minerva couldn't contain the chuckle. "Now _that_ is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, Mel. You were always a clever and independent witch, but you're quite obviously stealing your interrogation techniques from someone else." Mel just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, causing Minerva to laugh all the harder, "Me, you silly woman. You look just like me. What, do you think that expression came naturally? I practiced endlessly as a young teacher, desperate to have the students respect me." Minerva then put on her most stern professional mask, as if to demonstrate.

"I am certainly doing _no _such thing," Mellasandre snapped, her cheeks turning ever so slightly red.

"Oh, but you are," Minerva sighed, "And even if you weren't, those techniques won't work on me. I've stared Tom Riddle in the eyes, girl. I've dueled Severus Snape. And I am likely the only person alive who has given Albus Dumbledore a stern reprimanding. I may _look_ like an eighteen year old girl, but _you_ won't frighten me, so you may as well save the effort for a more creative interrogation."

* * *

**Can I just say, that last line from Minerva is one of my favorite that I've ever written. I wish I had a resume like that to threaten people with!**

**I wanted to quickly respond to a few common questions/comments I've received in my reviews (especially ones which have shown up in "guest" form), I hope you don't mind too much!**

**Will the rating be going up at any point? **At this point I'm really not sure. Currently I'm very much _in_ their relationship. I feel like they've just started something new and passionate but that neither of them are quite ready for that step. If they hit that point within this story, which seems fairly likely eventually, I will raise the rating. That being said, I'm not always comfortable writing complete lemons, and I'm only willing to even attempt if I feel I can do my characters justice. They aren't in the midst of a one-night stand, and I don't want to write something which would feel like that. So in the end... maybe?

**What's up with the other professors?** Quite a few of you have brought this up in your reviews and messages. I'm as frustrated with their behavior as anyone else, but keep in mind that this is their friend, but also their superior in terms of employment. She is the Deputy Headmistress, and as such will most likely eventually be Headmistress. If your manager is in the room you would be on your best behavior, right? But do you ever get caught doing something irresponsible or not working quite as hard when they're not around, text messaging on the job, or reading fanfiction ;-)? I think that these professors feel as if they've been being spied on for months now, and they need a chance to reconcile that.

I imagine that Professor Flitwick would be understanding, seeing as how he recognized her in September and didn't reveal anything. But the professors who _aren't_ upset with her, probably realize that her publicly displaying their friendship would make her experience with her new peers even more difficult. (Teachers pet, basically.**  
Thanks for reading as usual, and I hope you all have a lovely week! Happy Monday! (Ps: One more plug for my Twitter page, I spend more that a little time talking about what I'm writing, and when updates are coming. Consider it! LadyChristineM )  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry for leaving you with a cliffhanger, but I'm glad that you all enjoyed the chapter so much. Things are getting serious here, I hope you "enjoy" this chapter... and my enjoy I mostly mean, don't kill me.**

**Thanks for reading, and reviewing, and tweeting, and FB'ing! You're all loved.**

* * *

Four drab walls.

Tan paint.

A portrait of a sailboat drifting endlessly in the ocean.

A firm bed, with too many pillows.

She sat on the bed, her feet in front of her, and stared at the wall—willing it to become a door, but so far she hadn't had any luck. After their brief conversation the evening before _Mel_ had sent Minerva here, wherever that was. It was too homey to be a prison cell. So homey, in fact, that she could only guess they were trying to _convince_ people that it wasn't a prison cell.

Minerva wasn't so gullible.

She had been left here in the evening, and by the rumbling in her stomach she had assumed it was well past dinner. A nondescript man had brought her a meal, not quite the delicacy of Hogwarts, but certainly nothing worth complaining about. And then he had left her.

There were no windows in the small room, just that damnable sailboat, and despite the moving portrait, the time of day didn't change within the painting. Just the endless waves.

There was no way of knowing how long she had been here.

She had slept for a little while, despite her predicament. It hadn't been easy, she had wanted to tear through the walls and scream, and demand answers. Every muscle in her body urged her to fight, but if Minerva was being held by the Unspeakables, she would need her energy. It would take all of her wit to avoid revealing anything about Fred & George to her captors. Or anyone else, for that matter.

During the wars, she had learned to trick herself into falling asleep. She would push her worries over the future, and her friends, and her students, out of her mind. She would picture something calming, she would concentrate, and she would sleep. She couldn't allow the luxury of a night of worrying.

So she pushed away her thoughts of Albus, and her curiosities as to where he was, why he hadn't saved her yet. She pushed away her fear for the twins, and her nervousness that she would be the one to doom them. She pushed away her worries for Hermione, who she had assured that she would be back before it was time to sleep. She boxed them all up in the furthest corner of her mind, and instead allowed herself to remember.

She carefully constructed the walls of the memory. Recalling each breath of air and the feeling of a smooth palm reaching into her own. She recalled the feel of frigid water on the tips of her toes as the skimmed over the lake, and the quivering form of her newest friend clutching desperately behind her. She had rarely felt as content as she did that night when she had unwittingly helped Hermione to willingly fly for the first time.

With that the thought in her mind, and the memory of a cool night's breeze, she fell into a light slumber.

But now it was morning, or closer to morning than it had been, and she wasn't flying slowly over the lake, nor had she magically awakened in the bed across from Hermione's, laughing as she combed out her hair. Instead she was in the small room with four walls, and a silly sailboat painting.

Hermione would have slept last night as well. Minerva knew she had trained herself in the same way while on the run with the boys. She once told Minerva that during those nights she has transported herself back to years of camping trips with her parents. Had focused all of her energy on Ron's snoring and pretending it was her father asleep across from her.

What would she have thought of last night? Minerva could only hope that it was of something peaceful and that she had been able to rest, maybe even sleep in for a change and avoid her nerves for a while longer.

Minerva knew that by the time Hermione woke up, she was bound to be in tatters, worrying for her friend. Even without their newfound romantic entanglements, Minerva could clearly remember hearing Poppy reprimand Hermione in her fifth year, after she had been attacked by Dolores Umbridge. Hermione had continually tried to visit Minerva in the hospital wing, worried for her favorite professor.

Now that they were friends—now that they had become something more than friends—Hermione was going to be insufferable to everyone around her. Minerva could only hope that Albus was letting the Gryffindor help in _some_ way. She knew the he could be rather singular when it came to his planning. He had rarely ever even let her help, and she considered herself one of his closest friends.

Sighing to herself, she tried to maintain hope that he would come for her soon. As a key slipped into the doorknob, Minerva's head shot towards the door. Hopefully _very_ soon.

A tall Unspeakable stepped through, "Come with me, please."

Minerva considered starting trouble—refusing to go with the man, but she decided her energy was better spent elsewhere. She stood carefully, straightened her robes, and then followed him out the door.

He walked her quickly down a dimly lit corridor before finally opening a door on the right and beckoning her inside. Stepping through, she found Mellasandre waiting for her, sitting patiently behind a desk.

"Thank you, Derek," she said firmly, an obvious dismissal, and the younger man stepped back into the hallway without hesitation. It was then that she glanced at Minerva over the rims of her glasses, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She wasn't unattractive, but it was obvious that she was trying to look like a _serious_ ministry woman. She had undoubtedly fought hard against the Ministry patriarchy to earn such a high place among the Unspeakables, and Minerva almost felt bad for having ridiculed her the day before. That regret vanished quickly though, as she smiled patronizingly and greeted, "Good Morning, Miss. McGonagall."

"Good Morning Miss. Winthrop," she responded in the same sugary tone.

"As you are aware, we at the ministry are very curious about your current circumstances. Your _transformation_ could lead to fascinating magical discoveries, but we are also concerned for your health and well-being."

"My well-being. I'm sure."

Mellasandre frowned as she continued, "Therefore, I have been tasked with obtaining as much information regarding your situation as possible, in order to facilitate further research."

"You have already told me all of this, _Mel_. We spoke for quite a few hours, in fact. I assure you, my memory was in perfect working order when I was sixty-five. It's certainly functioning just as well, if not better, now that I am eighteen."

"I felt I should clarify, just in case overnight you had been compelled to be more helpful."

Minerva smiled slightly, "Unfortunately, I'm already being helpful as I can."

Mellasandre glared icily, "So you will not tell us what the potion was which caused your accident," she snipped.

"I don't know what the potion was which caused my accident."

"And you refuse to tell us whom the student was who was carrying such a dangerous potion?"

Minerva shook her head, "Unfortunately, that student retains no memory of the accident and is therefore unavailable for interrogation."

"And the inventors of such a potion?"

"I'm sorry," Minerva shrugged, "I haven't been informed of these things."

"Miss. McGonagall," Mellasandre snapped, removing her glasses and setting them lightly on the table, "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you have _no_ knowledge of how you suddenly lost nearly fifty years of your life?"

"I expect you to believe that most of my former colleagues don't think they can trust sensitive information with an eighteen year old girl," Minerva snapped back, "They treat me with a certain level of respect still, but that doesn't change the fact that my emotional upheaval has caused me to reveal several personal secrets, jump out of Gryffindor tower during a thunderstorm, and feel hormonal urges towards a former student. Albus Dumbledore is _far_ too intelligent to trust any dangerous information with me."

Mellasandre's expression grew tight, "Oddly enough, you don't seem to be having those difficulties currently?"

"Even as a child I was never prone to being overly emotional when put to the test—I'm far more likely to respond with pig-headed stubbornness or give a show of my famous temper."

"Indeed," she bit out. "Well unfortunately, I find myself unconvinced. It is obvious that you will not be cooperating with the Ministry at this time, so we must enter our secondary interrogation technique."

Minerva nodded lightly, willing her nerves to stay under control. She was well away of what the _secondary interrogation_ _technique _consisted of, and she would need all of her wits about her to succeed.

* * *

Hermione stood outside of Albus Dumbledore's office knocking. She _knew_ that he was inside, because she was currently in possession of the Marauders Map, and she didn't plan on leaving until the stubborn old man opened his door.

After five minutes of knocking, the door opened to reveal an unamused Albus Dumbledore. "Miss. Granger. It is customary in most cultures to respect a person's right to not answer the door, whether or not you are in possession of a magical map."

Hermione just frowned, "Do you have any information regarding Minerva?"

Professor Dumbledore sighed, "Nothing which is of concern to you, Miss. Granger. I assure you, if I get any information on her current condition, or when to expect her return, I will inform you. Until that time, I will ask you to respect Minerva's privacy and be patient with us. We are working as hard as we can, but things within the ministry take time."

"And during that _time_ Minerva is being held captive, Professor. The Department of Mysteries have _no_ laws. You know what they could do to her," Hermione argued, "_I'm_ not Harry, sir. I'm not capable of just blindly trusting that you and the Ministry will work things out and she'll be fine, _because you say so_! Please, I need to be kept informed."

Dumbledore's eyes grew hard suddenly, and Hermione found herself stepping back unconsciously. "Miss. Granger, I know you care for Minerva deeply, but I would ask you to remember that you are _not_ the only one. I am doing all I can to find her and bring her back here as quickly as possible. You do not have to trust that, but you must respect that. Now, I have a meeting with the Minister in forty-five minutes, and I must finish preparing if I'm to have any hope of negotiating Minerva's release."

Hermione knew perfectly well when she was being dismissed, and mumbled a quick and deflated, "Thank you for your time," before hurrying back down the stairs.

She was embarrassed. Admittedly, she was right about everything she had said—but that didn't change the fact that Dumbledore _obviously_ knew all of that. She should have been patient; she was _trying_ to be patient. But it had been 24 hours, and Hermione was just about at her wit's end.

She had spent the night staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the complete silence which surrounded her, and sleep hadn't come. Hermione supposed that was a bad sign—she had been able to sleep while she was on the run with Harry and Ron, yet not now?

At around 2 she had crept down the stairs and into the common room, forcing herself to make her sleep deprivation useful. She had finished two essays and read a chapter before finally falling asleep on the couch. Harry and Ron found her there early that morning and had worriedly woken her and made her eat breakfast.

After that she had paced. She had paced the common room, paced around the lake, paced around the castle, just waiting to hear something—anything. That was why she had gone to see Dumbledore, to find out what was going on and when Minerva would be back. She just wanted to know that she was safe.

Harry was confident that she was fine; he was convinced that if Dumbledore was on the case everything would be alright. If only Hermione could be so trusting. She thought Dumbledore was a brilliant man, but she had seen how many times he had failed this school and its students.

In her second year, while everyone else was hailing him as their great protector, she was wondering how he could let four of his students be petrified, and one abducted, before taking any real action.

In her fourth year a death eater had been sitting at his staff table all year, and he hadn't realized it. And an obvious plot was afoot, yet he hadn't allowed his _underage _celebrity student to withdraw from the competition.

In fifth year an evil toad masquerading as a professor was literally torturing his students, and illegally using Veritaserum, and he hadn't been able to do _anything_!

It wasn't that Hermione disliked Professor Dumbledore, or thought he was somehow incapable. He was brilliant, powerful, and undeniably good. But that didn't mean he was all powerful, or that he didn't make mistakes. For seven years Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been forced to pick up the pieces when he wasn't able to.

Why should she trust the Minerva's abduction would be any different?

* * *

**Poor Hermione, she's going a bit nuts already! More coming soon!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: As promised, another chapter today! I'm sorry for the briefness of the last chapter, but I hope this makes up for it a bit. If not, I can tell you that I'm currently writing chapter 17, and it will probably be around 7,000 words. Now, without further ado, chapter 15!**

* * *

Bright lights shone down from the ceiling, causing sweat to gather on her hairline, and she had a fleeting moment of amusement, guessing that some muggleborn at the Ministry had enjoyed one too many mystery novels.

Flushing the humor from her mind, she refocused as the frustrated woman sat down in front of her again. "Who created the potion which caused you to revert to your current age?" she asked, and Minerva rolled her eyes slightly, annoyed with the fact that they were starting from the beginning again.

She felt the tingling sensation in the back of her mind, a gentle compulsion charm. It tugged at her know-it-all tendencies screaming, "You know that, Fred and George! Tell them, ten points to Gryffindor!" But Minerva shut that door firmly, instead concentrating on the names of important figures in the Goblin Rebellions.

_Urg the Unclean, Goblin leader in the Rebellions of the 18__th__ century._

The now familiar stabbing sensation began to distract her from her recitations, as she held back the valuable answers. She moaned lightly, cringing at the pain, but was able to hold enough focus to last the forty-nine seconds.

Sudden relief filled her and she sighed, allowing herself a small moment of breath, before returning to her complete focus.

It was rare that a person could fight the toxins in Veritaserum. To date, Albus Dumbledore, Gideon Prewett, Alastor Moody, and Severus Snape were the only wizards known to be able to fight it. Granted, most of the higher up dark wizards had never been questioned using Veritaserum—they hadn't exactly hidden their actions, had they? Just the same, Minerva was likely to go down in history if she was able to keep up much longer.

Unfortunately, Mellasandre had been questioning her for several days now, and Minerva didn't know how much longer she would be able to hold them off. She wasn't getting more than four hours of sleep on any given night, and was spending hours each day under harsh questioning. The nature of veritaserum caused each unanswered question to bring a sharp stabbing sensation, similar to the pain of an ice-cream headache. The only difference was that this sensation would last from 48 to 52 seconds.

She had counted.

48 seconds may sound brief, but when debilitating pain, compulsion charms, and veritaserum are combined, suddenly even twelve seconds is too long.

Just as Minerva felt the ringing in her head lessen, Mellasandre was staring her down again and repeating, "Who created the potion which caused you to revert to your current age?"

_Bodrig the Boss-eyed, leader of the Brotherhood of Goblins, claimed not to condone violence, but supportive of Goblins who embraced it._

Minerva let out a scream as the stabbing began this time, but still managed to hold the information, clutching it desperately between her teeth. As the pain subsided she bit out, "Fuck you, _Mel_."

* * *

Throughout the years, Harry had done some honestly moronic things, and he was well aware of that. He followed his heart more than his head and, while he certainly didn't begrudge his heart, more often than not it had ended in tragedy.

One of the reason's his and Hermione's friendship had always been so strong, is that despite the fact that she _always_ seemed to know when he was making the wrong choice, she still followed him. And she never once said, _I told you so_. He loved her for that.

He had always hoped that if she was ever in that situation he would be equally supportive and forgiving—it seemed that he was about to be tested on that.

It had been exactly one week since Minerva had disappeared, and Hermione was in shambles. She hadn't eaten in at least two days, her eyes were red-rimmed, and her hair was an even more terrifying mass than it had been when they were on the run. He had dragged her to class, in some cases literally, knowing that she wouldn't forgive herself if she failed to graduate when all of this was past them. But aside from class she had stayed hidden in her room.

He found himself even doing _her _homework, which was something he never would have predicted.

Now it was Saturday morning and she had already made a first year cry by shouting at them. Afterwards she had briefly succumbed to a flurry of sobs, ashamed of her untapped temper. When she had tried to apologize to the boy he had just nodded fearfully.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, watching as she paced in front of the fire place, "Please sit down and talk to me."

She looked at him unhappily before heaving herself onto the couch beside him, leaning heavily against his shoulder. "Harry, I don't know what to say," she rasped, voice weary from too many hours screaming at nothingness. "It's been a week, and Dumbledore isn't any closer to getting her back. She's alone, and vulnerable, and I can't do _anything_."

Harry grasped her hand lightly, "Hermione, you know Minerva. She is anything but vulnerable. I'm sure that she's fairing alright."

Hermione just shook her head and whispered, "I can't stop hearing her voice, Harry."

"What?"

"I—I hear her voice. All the time, I hear her screaming," she said, crying softly. "I know it's crazy, and I know I can't be actually hearing her, but it's there all the same, and it's killing me."

"We're going to get her back, Mione. And I'm sure that she'll be _fine. _Then you two will have your happy ending, eh?" Hermione shook her head and wiped the tears away fiercely, obviously frustrated with her visible misery. "It's okay to be upset you know—you don't have to be strong all the time."

Hermione shook her head again, "It's better to be angry, than sad, Harry. It's easier."

"Anger is not a good thing, Hermione."

"Hypocrite."

Harry shrugged, "Maybe, but doesn't that mean I would know best? Remember fifth year, Mione? I was angry all the time, and in the end that recklessness and anger got someone killed, and it almost killed you."

Hermione frowned, "Harry that wasn't your fault," she said sadly.

"I'm not saying it was," Harry clarified; he had long since forgiven himself for that particular incident. "But that doesn't change the fact that my anger made me reckless, and you can't let that happen to you."

"But Harry, I need to do _something_." She whispered, "I can't just leave her there."

Harry pulled her into a hug, allowing her to bury her tears in his shirt, "You _are_ doing something, Hermione. You're trusting Dumbledore."

Harry discretely cast a seclusion spell, distracting their peers from their conversation, as Hermione burst into a wave overwhelming tears. She seemed to finally release the pent up emotions of the past week, sobbing violently into Harry's robes as he held his friend helplessly.

"It'll be okay, Mione," he whispered, desperate to comfort her.

"Harry, I'm completely in love with her," Hermione sobbed finally. "I'm completely in love with her, and she's gone."

* * *

Minerva woke up as the lights flickered to life in her room—cell. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, but that didn't seem to matter much recently. It had been three days since her last interrogation, the one which has left her screaming in agony as the same question was echoed endlessly.

She didn't know why they had stopped, but she could only guess they had given up on Veritaserum, which was lucky for her. She could feel her control slipping, and didn't doubt that if they had continued for another day she would have broken. After Mellasandre had angrily left the room, Minerva had been hurried back to her room, and abandoned.

She hadn't left since, nor had she seen anyone, not even for meals. Her stomach gurgled loudly at the thought—three days without food certainly wasn't pleasant, though she was extremely appreciative of the water glass on her nightstand which seemed to refill itself.

Somewhere in the back of her subconscious a deep-seeded fear of being forgotten clawed at her, worried that no one would come for her, worried that she would die here. But she pushed that thought away, realizing it was unrealistic and that nothing of the sort was going to happen.

She could only guess that they were attempting a more muggle technique for weakening her, but that wouldn't work very well. She was hungry, certainly. And physically she was weak. But she had been in worse situations in her life, and she could handle this. Especially with the amount of sleep they were awarding her. After a week of sleep deprivation, she wasn't going to complain about having three days to recover.

She was once again distracted from her musings as a key was inserted in her lock. Derek entered the room stiffly, "Come with me please."

Minerva nodded, standing slowly and approaching him. "Derek?" she asked quietly, causing the man to glance over, surprised.

"Er—yes?" he asked, seemingly confused to be leaving behind their usual script.

"I was just curious what your last name was," she asked softly, "Until this little break, I was seeing you every morning, and I don't recognize you. As you well know, I recognize most people around here, being that I've taught for so long. So I was wondering what you last name was, so I may be able to place you."

Derek nearly smiled, but he was able to control it. "I didn't attend Hogwarts, Professor. I was homeschooled."

Minerva nodded, "Ah, good. That means my memory isn't suddenly failing me."

"No ma'am," he answered, opening the door for her. "Have a good day, ma'am."

The door shut swiftly behind her, but she couldn't contain the soft smile caused by the boy's manners. She hadn't expected that from one of her captors, but she supposed he was only doing his job. He couldn't be more than 22, and had undoubtedly spent all of his time trying to move up in the department. He may not even be fully aware of what happened in these rooms.

"Minerva," a cold voice called from behind her, and she felt her guard going up. She and Mellasandre had given up all pretenses by the second day of Veritaserum, and it was refreshing to see the cold calculation behind her grey eyes. "I'm so glad that you are making _friends _with our Derek."

Minerva frowned, "I certainly wouldn't consider him a _friend_. If he was a friend he would let me out of this damned place. I simply find it refreshing to speak with someone who holds an appreciation for manners."

"Well then, I do hope you've enjoyed your rest."

"It was lovely; I've grown rather attached to that painting. I may just stay forever."

"Perhaps," she drawled.

Minerva knew what would come next, which allowed her to be fully prepared. They had decided that Veritaserum wouldn't be of use in her case, meaning they only had one other method. She had tried to lull Minerva into a state of carelessness, to distract her with simple and easy banter back and forth.

But Minerva expected the intrusion and had a strong Iron Gate in place as Mel hissed, "Legilimens."

Minerva could practically see Mel smacking into the brick wall which was her mind, and she knew that the witch had no chance of getting in—but then she considered their tactics with Veritaserum. Long continual attacks, hoping to weaken her.

Minerva considered this as Mel continued to batter hopelessly against her defenses. It would be easy for the first day, maybe even two. Minerva was powerful, focused, and stubborn. She had played these games with Severus Snape, so she certainly wasn't a novice. But eventually she _would_ tire, Mellasandre would get in, and she would find the information which she sought.

She considered the alternative, and it almost made her smile. It was practically a game. She could save her energy by allowing Mellasandre in—it would be risky, certainly, but if she could allow the witch into her mind, but distract her with other thoughts and memories, she may be able to save her energy and fight them off for longer.

Mellasandre pulled back again, taking a sip from her own water bottle and trying to cover how tiring that experience had been. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as Minerva smirked. _ 'Kitten wants to play?' _She thought to herself_, 'Let's play.'_

"Legilimens," she spoke again, putting more power behind her initial blow. Her expression was more than a little bit shocked as she suddenly tumbled straight forward into Minerva's memories. She grinned for a moment, enjoying her success, before realizing that she had fallen straight into a trap.

_A short auburn haired girl ran through the gate of an old house outside of town, laughing madly as her mother chased after her. "Minerva Gwendolyn McGonagall! You stop right this instant; I _know_ it was you who pushed Geoffrey Peck into that puddle!"_

"_Wasn't me, Mum!" she laughed mischievously, "I wasn't anywhere _near_ him!"_

_Her mother practically growled as she grabbed hold of the nine year old, "You're not the only witch in the family, Minerva. I'm perfectly aware of what Petrificus Totalus does!"_

_Minerva smirked, "Must have gotten his laces tangled, Mum."_

"_He did _not_ get his laces tangled Minerva! Don't you dare lie to me!"_

"_I'm not even in school yet, how could I have done that? I don't even have a wand!"_

_Her mother sighed heavily, leaning against the door of the house, "Minerva you're an advanced girl, and I know that. You're bored, and you're eager to go to school. You can do most of the magic first-year students know, and you can do it without a wand. But that doesn't mean you_ should_. You should never hurt people Min, it's not right to control others that way."_

_Minerva looked at her feet, "Are you going to tell Da?"_

"_Not if you promise not to do that again," her mother said seriously._

"_It was just a silly jinx."_

_Her mother shook her head, "A silly jinx will turn into a hex, which will turn into a curse. The next thing you know you'll be using dark magic and peeking into people's minds. Dark magic is quite good at sneaking in past a person's defenses; you mustn't give it any room to breathe."_

_The nine year old pouted slightly, "I would never be _bad_ Mum, that jinx was just in good fun," she admitted, causing her mother to laugh lightly._

"_Don't worry, I'm sure that we can have fun without bothering anyone," she teased, conjuring a few lone butterflies to flutter around the tip of her daughters nose. "Now, if you promise to be good, I won't tell your Da or brothers' a thing, and you and I can keep todays magic our little secret, alright?"_

_Minerva nodded happily, smiling as she watched the butterflies flutter into the wind._

Minerva was smiling broadly as the witch in front of her shuttered from the loss of the memory. "A bit jolting isn't it," she laughed, "spying on someone's memories that way?"

"I will find what I'm looking for," Mellasandre promised, and Minerva shook her head disappointedly.

"Did you learn anything, Mel? It's wrong to peak into other people's minds."

"Legilimens," she said again, glaring as Minerva smirked once more. This time she was less forceful, but more precise with what she was looking for. Unfortunately, that did nothing to deter Minerva's intended memory.

_This time an older Minerva appeared, sitting in front of Albus Dumbledore's desk. She was in her thirties, and looked far from pleased to be sitting in front of the headmaster. "I feel like a moron, Albus. Honestly, having me practice Occlumens with my former student—who's also an ex-Death Eater?"_

"_Now Minerva, Severus is the best Legilimens I have met—he even taught me a thing or two. You have had plenty of practice with the basics, but it would do you well to be prepared against more offensive Occlumens than myself."_

_Minerva glared icily, "I somehow doubt that a 21 year old is going to teach me anything."_

_A deep baritone sounded behind her as he entered the room, "I wouldn't be so sure, Minerva."_

"_You may call me, Professor McGonagall, Mister Snape." She bit out, still unsure as to why Albus had hired the impolite young man._

_He held his head high, "Very well, then you may call me Professor Snape."_

_She growled slightly, and was about to retort when Albus swiftly interrupted the two. "Minerva, I would remind you that if I am to offer you the Deputy Headmistress position at the end of this year, as I am inclined to do, I need to be able to trust that Hogwarts secrets will be safe. That requires a level of defense which you do not currently possess."_

_Minerva hissed in displeasure, but turned towards Severus, "Fine. We'll start tonight, you may follow me, Snape."_

_She left the room quickly, leaving Snape no room to argue as he followed behind. They walked silently through the halls for several moments before she finally spoke. "You_ will _teach me, but you will _not_ invade any of my personal memories. If you see anything which looks remotely personal, you are to go in the opposite direction. I am signing up to be taught, not to have my mind molested." She stopped suddenly in front of a portrait, "Are we quite clear?" she asked brusquely._

"_Completely," He answered respectfully._

As his answer rang out in the memory Mellasandre tried to escape, to regain control, but found herself frozen as a swirl of color engulfed her and she was plunged into another memory.

_Professor Snape's office stood before her, devoid of any personal effects. He slouched slightly, exhaustion clear on his face as he looked at the woman before him. She sat well poised with a tired, yet serious, expression on her face. Her hair was tied back in the customary bun, though several strands had recently escaped._

"_Three hours," he breathed, "That's longer than Albus was able to hold out at this point."_

_She smiled lightly, "Albus is remarkably powerful, but he's not blessed with Scottish stubbornness."_

_Snape laughed softly, "Well done, Minerva. You've gotten quite good."_

"_Not good enough," she frowned, "You still broke through."_

"_Minerva you can't possibly expect to last forever. There will always be _someone_ who can break through. The key is to be able to stand it long enough."_

_Her expression turned stony, "My thoughts and memories are mine alone, and _no one _will access them without my express permission."_

_He shook his head, "That's unrealistic, Minerva."_

_She smirked slightly, "With all due respect, Severus, you don't know me. I will never fold."_

_He nodded after a moment, "I will say this, if anyone could do it, it would be you," he paused for a moment, yawning, "I'm sorry Minerva, but can we continue this next week? I find that you have absolutely exhausted me, and I'm in for quite the migraine if I don't go to sleep soon."_

_She smiled, "Certainly Severus, get some rest. We will practice more next Monday."_

Mellasandre jolted slightly as she returned to her own reality, a wave of dizziness and exhaustion surrounding her. "The following week it took him five hours," Minerva said softly from across the table. "And the following month he gave up after eight.

Mellasandre frowned deeply at the girl across the table, "You aren't going to frighten me away, Minerva. I will breach your defenses."

Minerva laughed musically, "Do you know who Severus Snape _is_ child? He stood up to Lord Voldemort himself, and is the most powerful known Occlumens in our history. Do you really think you can do better than him?" Her opponent furrowed her eyebrows, considering what to do next, and Minerva just shrugged. "By all means, continue. I'm having a lovely time; I just wanted you to be aware of exactly what was coming."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! Thank you all for reading, and for your patience in the more unhappy portion of this story! Thank you especially for your overwhelming support via Twitter and Reviews. Please keep it up! It helps more than you know! **

**(If you wish to hear about this story as I'm writing it, and be kept up to date on when updates will be posted, consider following LadyChristineM on Twitter!)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: This is a fairly short update, but the next chapter will be 7,797 words, so I think you can all handle this. :-) I'm not thrilled with it, but I think it's alright enough for what it is. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Dedicating this chapter to one of my most passionate readers and reviewers, Chelsey! Don't know if you'll have time to read this today, but you sounded like you could use a bit of a distraction. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

_A sixteen year old shot through the air, her dark auburn hair tangling around her as she laughed wildly. No one who viewed this girl would ever believe the serious witch she would eventually become. _

_Behind her a boy rode furiously on a horse, the hoof beats disappearing into the strong winds. He tried to keep up, but was failing rather miserably. "Min!" He shouted desperately, "Come back here! Da is going to kill you if he catches you flying!"_

_She just laughed all the harder, "What, are _you_ going to tell him Mal? Cause I'm certainly not!" She did a swift loop through the air and shot back towards her brother, flying upside down._

"_Minerva you're going to break your neck!"_

"_Unlikely," she snorted, flipping back right side up and quickly zooming in a circle around her brother. "Did you want to give it a go?"_

_The boy shook his head, "You're absolutely mad, flying on one of those things."_

"_Come on Mal, you'll fall in love once you try one out yourself. There is nothing quite as wonderful as flying!" She slowed down slightly, allowing the eight year old to catch up with her._

"_Minerva, we really should get back. Mum will kill us both when she realizes we've gone, and you know how much she hates it when you use magic!"_

_Minerva rolled her eyes dramatically, "Mum hates magic in general. It's not like I'm using my wand or anything, I just went for a ride!"_

_The young by shook his head, halting the horse and dismounting. "She won't see it that way, and you _know_ she has good reason. If anyone saw…"_

"_No one saw!" Minerva grumbled, "You know Malcolm, you should really learn to have some fun. You're eight years old, and you act like Da. Let it go!"_

_Malcolm frowned noticeably, "I'm just trying to help."_

"_I know you are, but you're the little brother—_I'm_ supposed to scold _you._ Back off!"_

_He sighed, "Okay, Min. Just be careful." _

_She frowned at his beaten down expression, obvious guilt marring her features. Sighing lightly she swooped down right next to him, reaching out a hand, "Just let me take you for a short fly?"_

_Malcolm smiled lightly, "It's a bad idea Min, and I can't exactly leave Arabesque here," he said gesturing towards the horse. Minerva bit her lip gently and glanced around, they were in the middle of nowhere. Pulling her wand from her sock she whispered a slight compulsion charm, and Arabesque took off towards their farm._

_Malcolm frowned disapprovingly. "Mind control, Min?"_

_She blushed, "Only a bit, I promise, it wasn't anything more powerful than if I asked you nicely to go back to the house. I just don't speak horse…"_

_Mal grinned at her, "Great, now you can go live with them."_

_Minerva stuck out her tongue, "Do you want to go flying with me or not?"_

_He eyed the broom warily, "I don't know, Min. I still think those things are dangerous."_

"_Come on! Where's your sense of adventure?"_

_He took her hand nervously, and she easily lifted him onto the back of the broom. "Ready?" she asked with a grin. With a nod of approval she took off, tearing quickly over the hills surrounding their home. After a moment of trembling terror Malcolm calmed down and seemed to open his eyes. Looking around at the beautiful landscape he let out a whoop of approval."_

Mellasandre tried to disguise the slight twitch as she came back to their reality. She had tried, again, to break into Minerva's mind, and again Minerva had shown her a completely irrelevant memory.

Mellasandre was looking more annoyed and more desperate by the day—though Minerva couldn't understand why she was so surprised by her failure. The stubborn witch had just continued to throw herself into memory after memory; she didn't seem to change her methods at all. What did she expect, after enough show and tell Minerva would just let her in?

At the beginning, Minerva had shown Mellasandre memories which painted her as vicious and unbeatable, she had tried to intimidate her. But after the first two days she had grown bored of it. Showing those memories just felt like boasting, something which Minerva found rather intolerable under most circumstances. Since then, she had simply chosen random unrelated memories. None which held anything particularly meaningful in them, and all of which Mellasandre had found exceptionally annoying.

In this one she had simply flown with her brother, earlier today she had shown her the entirety of a film she took her brothers to see when she was in her twenties. Apparently the stiff ministry witch wasn't a fan of old muggle comedies.

They had already been at it for six hours, and Minerva watched as she stifled a groan and stormed from the room, slamming the steel door hard behind her.

Minerva laid her head lightly against her arms, allowing her eyes to drift closed. How long would it be this time?

* * *

_Dear Malcolm,_

_I hate to be writing you like this, especially having only just met you, but I feel that you're the only person who may be of any actual assistance. _

_To be blunt, Minerva has been taken. She was abducted sixteen days ago by two members of the Department of Mysteries, and we have heard nothing since. Dumbledore is doing his best to work diplomatically with the Ministry, but he grows more frustrated by the day, and nothing changes._

_All we know is that the Ministry had the correct paperwork, and more than enough right, to keep her indefinitely. And as a former Auror, I'm sure I don't need to inform you of the measures which the DoM is willing to take in its interrogations. _

_Harry and I are considering organizing a rescue attempt if she isn't recovered in another week—but we realize that our instincts are not always reliable when planning such adventures. Therefore, I'm looking for your thoughts and ideas. What would you do? _

_I hope that I can trust your discretion until we have made a final decision—I only wish to save your sister, and my patience is waning. _

_Thank you for your time, and I hope that this letter finds you well._

_Hermione J. Granger_

Hermione checked the letter for a fourth time, looking for errors or unclear statements. She sighed deeply, she didn't want to write to Minerva's brother, but she really didn't know what else to do. Dumbledore was failing, that much she could see, and Hermione didn't know anyone else worth contacting. Everyone they had worked with in the past would tell her the same thing, _trust Dumbledore_. Granted, Malcolm may say the exact same thing, but he didn't seem like the type.

All Hermione knew was that if they were going to attempt a rescue mission of this sort, they would need help. Sure, they knew how to break into the Ministry; they had done it enough times at this point. But they had no idea how to go about finding Minerva, nor did they know how to get her out again.

'_Though being locked up with Min would be far nicer than sitting here worrying,_' Hermione thought to herself.

She knew it wasn't true. She knew that Minerva wouldn't want her locked up there, and she knew that Minerva would be uncontrollably angry if she got caught—but Hermione didn't care. It had been 16 days. 16 days since she had seen Minerva. 16 days since she had heard her laugh, or watched her comb out her endlessly long hair. It had been 16 days since anyone had given her even the smallest smidge of information, and 16 days since she felt secure.

She would wait another week, if she could. She would be patient and come up with a well concocted plan. There wouldn't be any of the mistakes or casualties of the last visits, and she would not leave empty handed.

She would take Minerva away, and to hell with the consequences.

* * *

She watched blandly as the auburn strand of hair fluttered in the air above her face, before lightly drifting back against her lips. Then she blew on the strand again.

Two days had passed since she had last been interrogated, and Minerva was bored. She had been fed this time, which she could appreciate, yet she couldn't help but wonder just how long it would be before she was let out—or at least questioned a bit more. They didn't even give her a book.

Minerva was staring towards the ceiling of her room, quietly day-dreaming, when the key sounded in the lock again. She sighed lightly, but didn't move from her place.

"Come with me please," a weary voice sounded from across the room.

"Just out of curiosity, what would happen if I refused?" Minerva asked quietly, not sitting up from her position on the bed, but glancing towards the man in the doorway. He sighed heavily, his eyebrows furrowed.

"If you resist, I have orders to use a full-body bind on you and use a levitation charm to relocate you."

"Ah."

Derek shifted nervously in the doorway, "Come with me, Professor, please." There was a slight tinge of pleading in his voice, as if he was desperately hoping that he wouldn't have to follow that particular order yet. She smiled slightly, despite having only had one mild conversation; they had formed an unlikely alliance. He didn't like that she was being held here in such a way, and she didn't like the way Mel spoke down to her only polite employee.

From what Minerva knew of the Ministry, Derek was likely working here because of the research division. But Minerva knew from friends that you couldn't access that level of confidentiality until you had spent several years working. From his uncomfortable demeanor, Minerva guessed that Derek had absolutely no interest in this particular type of employment, and she hoped that he would be promoted quickly.

Minerva had easily predicted that if she decided to fight back it would be he who was her first opponent, and she wasn't willing to do that. It wouldn't be worth it anyways, she would still have to get out of the building, and she didn't even know where she was located, let alone where to find her wand.

Minerva groaned lightly and sat up, slowly approaching him, "Alright, take me away."

He breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Derek, you should feel free to call me Minerva. I'm not a professor anymore."

"If you're sure, I just don't want to disrespect you—there seems to be enough of that going on." He bit his lip as he ended his sentence, obviously regretting his statement.

"I wouldn't have fought you, just so you know," she said softly, "I'm just incredibly bored of this whole situation, and more than ready to go home—I don't suppose you could tell me if Albus Dumbledore has been in touch?"

He shook his head, "No, Ma'am. Though I doubt I would be informed."

She let out dramatic sigh as he opened the door for her, a small smile playing around his lips. She walked into the room, eyeing Mel carefully.

"Good Morning, Minerva. How are we feeling today?"

Minerva rolled her eyes, "Just lovely."

"Good," she said blandly, "Unfortunately, we have something rather serious to discuss, Minerva."

"Unlike all of the light-hearted fun of the past weeks?" Minerva snickered, feigning an aghast expression, her palm pressed to her chest dramatically.

Mellasandre carefully removed her spectacles, placing them gingerly on the table. She looked closely at Minerva. "You seem to have successfully evaded all of our regular methods of interrogation. I must say, I'm impressed. While I am surely no Severus Snape, I assure you, I am usually more than able to handle our visitors."

Minerva smiled thinly, "I'm sorry to have dealt such a blow to your ego, Mel. Does this mean I'm free to go?"

The witch shook her head, her lips tightly pursed, "Unfortunately, no. I have spoken at length with our research division and it seems that you will have the opportunity to become our first human test subject for a newly invented serum. We're confident that it will produce more positive results than our previous methods."

Minerva paled slightly, and tried to ignore the fear which was crawling up her throat. Since being abducted she hadn't actually been afraid. She thought it was rather odd—but she knew they wouldn't kill her, and so far she had known the exact steps which the ministry would take. She knew how to handle it, and she knew how to survive. Pain, anger, aggravation, depression, boredom—she had felt all of these. But never fear.

Yet the words that Mellasandre had just spoken left a chill in Minerva. If this really was something new—if this wasn't another twisted game—then Minerva had no guarantee of keeping her secrets. The image of Fred and George on their last encounter flickered through her mind—they _couldn't_ be caught. Could she find a way to send them a message? Tell them to hide.

Who was she kidding? If she could have sent a message she would have done so before now.

"A serum you say?" Minerva said, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice.

Mellasandre grinned slightly, "Oh yes, it's quite ingenious. Would you like to hear about it?"

Minerva chuckled darkly, "As if you would be able to keep it to yourself? That's a part of the game, right? Anticipation?"

"Right you are, Minerva. You see, I know that we've kept you quite bored, and unfortunately it will be a couple of days until the Serum is perfected and available for trials. So I thought that you would enjoy having something to look forward to!" Minerva glared silently at the cheerful woman as she continued, "We don't have a name for it yet, perhaps you could assist us in that regard."

"Oh the fun," Minerva said blandly.

"You see, the general concept was to create a serum which would distract the subject long enough to allow access into their mind. It would ease the difficulties of Legilimency against those more capable of evading it."

Minerva couldn't control her curious mind. The theory was terrifying to her, but intriguing as well. "How would it work?"

"It takes the purified essence of a Dementor," she said quietly, pausing for effect, "And combines it with a small hallucinogenic."

Minerva's eyes widened, "You've bottled fear," she said simply.

"Exactly. The subject would confront their greatest fears and most damaging memories, working in such a way that they wouldn't even realize they were being influenced at all. It would all seem completely real." Mellasandre explained, a large smile filling her face. "And you see Minerva, when a person is faced with those sorts of fears—they won't be thinking about broom rides or silly movies, will they?"

"So you use Legilimency while they are living out their nightmares. You can take your time and sort through anything you could possibly want to know."

"Exactly."

Minerva shook her head, her lips downturned in a expression of utmost disgust. "That is loathsome," she spat. "Why on earth was the Ministry ever researching a concoction like that?"

"Augustus Rookwood started the research during his final year with the Department. While I may not approve of his life choices, and many of my colleagues don't approve of his research, I saw that there may be _some_ usefulness. I've had a select team working on it for several months, and I think it may be perfect for this situation."

"You are not the girl that I taught all those years ago," she whispered, her shock plainly displayed. "I had thought that maybe you had been somewhat polluted by your occupation and by your thirst for knowledge. That combined with the amount of freedom the Ministry offers your department—I could almost understand. But this—there is no coming back from this, Mel. This is dark magic—there are no blurred lines here."

"And what kind of magic was it when you chose to become young and fresh and desirable again Minerva? Was that pure innocent magic? Because from what I know of ethics—seeking immortality is distinctly unethical."

Minerva shook her head again, ignoring the slur against her character. Minerva knew perfectly well that she hadn't _sought_ immortality. If that was the case she could have stolen the Philosophers Stone years ago. Mellasandre's skewed view of the situation aside; Minerva knew the truth of that matter.

Moving to her final question regarding the serum, she asked, "Why would you even think that this serum would work any better than Legilimency while under the effects of the Cruciatus curse? If you're not opposed to dark magic, you must have considered that. You _must _know that a person's mind becomes too scattered for any information to be properly unlocked. Why would this serum be any different?"

The smirk which faced Minerva's question made her blood run cold, "Well that is exactly why human trials are required, isn't it?"

* * *

**Coming up in Chapter 17: A Rescue attempt, will they succeed?! Coming soon!**

**Thank you for all the WONDERFUL reviews. You're inspiring me SO much, and I'm glad you're enjoying these glimpses into Minerva and Hermione as much as I am. **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I'm far to impatient to wait any longer on this one, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoy it too. Please let me know what you think! **

**Oh and please note, Póg mo thóin is Gaelic and pronounced Pogue Mahone (Or Pogue Mai Mahone if you ask my Dad...).**

* * *

Smooth leather fingertips moved softly against her stomach, trailing up her sides and lightly skimming her bra, causing her to purr softly in response, "I thought you weren't interested in Quidditch players?" a voice laughed as lips traveled up her neck, delighting in each hiss that her ministrations provoked.

"I'm not," Hermione sighed breathily, "You're the exception."

Minerva laughed as her tongue flicked over her ear, "And you like my Quidditch uniform."

"Perhaps."

"You like the gloves," Minerva observed, punctuating this fact by running a covered hand up her thigh, fingers toying with a red silk waistband, and grinning from the uninhibited moan she elicited.

"I do," Hermione gasped, her own hands fumbling with the clasps of the thick scarlet robes which covered her lover. With an elated laugh she managed to get them undone, pushing them from the taller girl's shoulders and quickly ridding her of the uniform jersey she wore. One hand slid delicately under the hem of the light weight shirt she was left in, delighted by the expanse of smooth skin it found, while the other buried itself in her auburn hair, her thumb trailing slowly down Minerva's face. "For the most part, I just like you."

Giving in to her desires she pulled Minerva flush against her, meeting her lips in a desperate display of the passion she had been hiding for weeks. Minerva smirked lightly against her lips, undoubtedly aware of the younger girl's struggle and thoroughly enjoying this response. Soft sighs escaped as limbs tangled together and supple lips fought for blissful dominance.

Minerva's fingers teased endlessly, running slim fingers over her pulsating sex, refusing to delve deeper or even completely unclothe her, and smiling at the gasping reaction which she earned.

"Hermione?" she whispered, causing the girl beneath her to hum in response. "Can I _have you_?"

Hermione grinned widely and bucked her hips, "As if I would let you leave after such torturous teasing."

Minerva smiled softly down at the beautiful brunette, gently brushing back the untamable curls, "I'm in love with you," she whispered, causing a beaming smile to bloom on her lover.

"The feeling is mutual."

* * *

Hermione woke with tears in her eyes. This seemed to be the newest form of subconscious torture, dreams of moments which had never happened—moments which she feared could never happen.

Frustrating teasing touches and overpowering emotions, those were Hermione's nights. She supposed she shouldn't complain. It was far better than the nightmares which tended to plague her before—but it still hurt.

She buried her head further into her pillow, willing back the emotions which were threatening to overflow. She had cried far too much recently—she wouldn't do it again this morning.

It was Saturday morning, and she was relieved that she wouldn't have to deal with class again. Harry insisted she go, and she was sure she would find it in her to appreciate that later on, but at the moment she just wanted to stay in bed.

It had been five days since she sent the letter to Malcolm, 21 days since she had last heard from Minerva, and he had yet to respond. She could only conclude that he wouldn't help, and if that was the case, she saw no reason to continue delaying things. She had tried to wait the week—but she didn't think she was going to last that long. Besides, planning a rescue for a weekday just didn't make sense. That's when the Ministry was bound to be the busiest.

If they rescued her now, they would have the entire Easter Holiday to hide away, and hope things could be resolved without all of them being hauled off to Azkaban. Hermione shut her eyes tightly, this wasn't a very good idea—but what other options did they have?

Flipping onto her back she glared at the ceiling. Tomorrow then.

They had a basic plan worked out. It wasn't as foolproof as she would have preferred, but it sounded like their best option. Ironically, she was going to be smuggling the same group of students into the Ministry that Harry had several years ago—adding in Fred and George. They were just waiting on her patronus.

She could only hope that two years and a war had left them all better prepared for such an adventure—either way, they couldn't just leave Minerva there.

Hermione sat up determinately. If she was going to pull this off, she would need to start contacting people now. Stepping out of bed, she quickly changed into a pair of loose fitting jeans and a t-shirt before opening the curtains.

As she pulled the curtains from the window she jumped back in surprise. A Bard Owl sat impatiently glaring from outside the window. "Malcolm?" She asked with surprise.

The owl just rolled its eyes and tapped the window.

Shaking her head slightly, she opened it, allowing the bird to swoop into the middle of the room. Transforming quickly she found Malcolm standing before her and a wave of nerves took her over. What if he was here to stop them? What if he thought she was a ridiculous child? What if he decided he hated her?

Glancing back towards him she found that he was laughing slightly, "You and Min are ridiculously alike sometimes. She tends to think loudly as well."

"I've been told I do that—a time or two," she replied weekly.

He quickly appraised her and she found herself twitching nervously, what was he looking for? "You look like hell," he said finally, causing her to growl slightly.

"I'm sorry that I'm not more put together. You see, I wasn't expecting visitors—_again._"

"I hope I'm not unwelcome."

She sighed heavily, "No, I'm glad you're here Malcolm. I had just thought you would reply to my letter—I'm a bit shocked to see you in person."

"Obviously," he laughed, sitting down on Minerva's bed this time. "Now really, Hermione, how are you fairing? You look like you haven't slept in days—nor showered. Are you sure you're up for an adventure of this sort?"

Hermione shook her head, "I'm not going to be sleeping soundly until this _adventure_, as you call it, is finished. Until I know Minerva is safe."

He watched her carefully for another moment, before apparently deciding that she would be alright. He nodded quickly, "Then what is the plan, Miss. Granger?"

"You're not going to try and talk me out of this?"

He laughed loudly, "For one, I know how little that would do. I've heard all about the _Golden Trio's_ exploits, you'll be going to the Ministry whether I like it or not. I may as well join in. Second of all—I like it. I'm not fond of letting my only sister rot away in some Ministry cell. Someone has to do something; it may as well be us."

Hermione smiled slightly, her face uncomfortably tight after the previous weeks, "Your sister wouldn't approve of this at all."

He rolled his eyes, "She would _now_. She'd just gotten too used to following orders. She trusts Albus too explicitly. She used to be a regular hellion you know?"

Hermione laughed, "I'm not surprised."

"So," he said, turning serious, "When do we leave?"

"Early morning," Hermione said quickly, "Five a.m. It's when they have the fewest guards on patrol—both at the Ministry and here."

He nodded, "And who all is taking part?"

"Harry, Ron, and I. As well as Fred and George Weasely, Ginny Weasely, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood."

He grinned to himself, "So the entire junior Order, eh? Sounds lovely."

"They're more capable than they sound, and they sure as hell did more than you in the last war." Hermione said bluntly.

He held his hands up defensively, "I don't doubt it for a minute, lass. I wasn't mocking."

She nodded briefly, "Sorry," she huffed, "I guess I'm a bit on edge."

Malcolm just waived her off, seemingly untouched by her attitude, "Ron Weasely—he hasn't been overly fond of Minerva in the past, and I'm confident that he wouldn't fully approve of your relationship. Is he reliable for something like this?"

"Ron is a complete arse the majority of the time, but he's the essential _good guy_ when it counts. He wants to help; I'm not going to deny him that."

Malcolm nodded, apparently trusting her judgment on the matter. He reminded her so much of Minerva in that moment that Hermione nearly lost control of her emotions again. He seemed to follow Minerva's philosophy regarding the sharing of opinions. She always made her thoughts known, but then she trusted you to make the correct decision—apparently Malcolm was the same way.

"How are you getting there?" he asked next.

"Apparition. We're all legal at this point."

"And your plan to get out of the school at that time of night?"

"There's a tunnel to Hogsmeade on the third floor. As long as we scatter ourselves and use disillusionment charms we should be alright—goodness knows most of us have snuck around this school enough in the past. We can apparate from Hogsmeade."

Malcolm nodded again, thinking things through carefully. "They'll have confiscated her wand, and she'll need that."

Hermione frowned, not having thought of that. "I have no idea where they would have put that."

"That's why I'm here—I did work for the Ministry for a while. Dealt with wand confiscation on more than one occasion." he laughed. "Assuming they haven't moved the office, I know how to get there."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she thought. He would be able to get to Minerva's wand, but that would mean extra time in the Department. Hermione wanted to work this as quickly as possible. Sighing deeply she asked, "What are the chances you could do that alone?"

"Does an owl fly silently at night?" he laughed. "I think I can handle getting in and out, and it will be easiest on my own. Then I can meet you at the cell."

"Do you know where they keep prisoners?" she asked hopefully, but he shook his head.

"In my day the Unspeakables didn't take prisoners, I don't know when they started doing that. Still, a simple locating spell should do the trick for the both of us. Boost the power with a bit of her hair; I'm assuming her hairbrush is still here."

"I don't know if that will work, the last time we were in the department we ended up horribly turned around, and locating spells didn't seem to do much."

"Ah the room of spinning doors, yes. Locating spells don't work there; the wards confuse your wand. Luckily, you don't need to go in there; they won't have their prisoners in that sector."

"Then where are we going?"

"That's just a portion of the department, Hermione. That area is practically just used for storage. They can't have people finding the experiments housed there, so the whole area is a maze. They don't do their everyday business there though, it would be illogical. Once you get to the ninth floor cast the locator spell. The entire floor is the Department of Mysteries and you should be lead straight to her."

Hermione nodded, "That certainly makes things easier."

"Hermione," He said cautiously, "Don't be over-confidant. This won't be a simple rescue—I know that you and your friends are more than capable—but you're all of age now, and what we're doing is highly illegal. This isn't something which will cause you to merely lose house points."

Hermione closed her eyes, sighing lightly, "I know," she said softly, "But we really don't have any other options. My only hope is that we can get far away and let Dumbledore handle things from there."

Malcolm nodded, "Now assuming you can get to her, it will be exceptionally more difficult to get her out."

Hermione nodded, "I hadn't come up with a suitable plan for that yet." She admitted. "It was on my list for today. So far all I can think of is 'Run' and I somehow doubt that is a thorough enough plan."

His face only showed the slightest hint of humor as he nodded, "I had anticipated that, which is why I brought you this." He handed her a small bronze medallion on a piece of cord. "Wear it around your neck. It's a portkey straight to our family home. Once you have Minerva, touch it and say '_portus'_. It will bring you straight there, and the entire property is under a fidelis charm, so no one will be able to find you there. Make sure that everyone is touching; otherwise someone will be left behind. They don't have to all be touching the necklace, but they must have a firm hold on each other. From the manor they can apparate to their homes if they please, and you and Minerva can stay for the Easter Holiday."

Hermione nodded quickly, absorbing all of the information. "Malcolm, this is brilliant. I had considered something of this sort, but I wasn't confidant I could make a portkey without drawing the attention of the Ministry. I also don't have a safe house to go to—hence my difficulty in coming up with an escape plan."

He nodded solemnly, "I thought that may be the case."

"Is there anything else we should be thinking of?" Hermione asked nervously, "This all sounds far too simple."

"Good plans are usually simple," he said honestly, "It's the unexpected surprises which make them complicated. Unfortunately, they're unexpected. I think you can do this, Hermione. You aren't called the cleverest witch of your age without cause."

Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "Alright. I'll tell everyone where to meet. You'll be here?"

Malcolm nodded, "If you need anything, just let me know."

Hermione surprised him by giving him an enthusiastic hug, "Thank you so much for coming, Malcolm. I've found very few people to be truly reliable, and I'm glad that I can count you as one of them."

* * *

Minerva paced her room anxiously. She gnawed at her fingernails and tugged endlessly at her hair. Where was Albus?

When they had taken her in she had been confident that he would have her out before morning. After the first full day she assumed that she would be back in her room with Hermione before the week was out.

It had been much longer than that.

Minerva had finally lost track of time. 20 days? No, 23 days. Minerva shook her head violently, she couldn't remember. She couldn't even figure out how long it had been since she had last seen Mellasandre. After Derek had accompanied her to her room, they had found that all of the lights were off. He had gone off in search of answers, and promised to come back.

He hadn't come back.

It had been dark ever sense. A tiny dark box with no windows. That's when time had stopped.

She knew that they would be returning for her soon, Mel had promised that much. And that promise had been the final straw, breaking Minerva's well-kept mask of courage. At some point they would come for her, and force her into the worst nightmares which she could imagine—meanwhile they would read her mind, and discover her secrets.

Fred & George. Hermione. Everything.

She shook her head again, trying to rid it of the poisonous thoughts. It wouldn't do her any good to think about that, not now. It would just upset her more, and she didn't need that. She was strong. She was Minerva McGonagall, she could survive this. She could _beat_ this.

A key sounded in the door and Minerva found herself automatically backing into a corner, hiding herself from immediate view.

"Minerva?" a voice called from the doorway, a familiar voice.

"Derek?"

"Hi," he said simply, opening the door wider and coming towards her cautiously.

"You veered from the script," she whispered, loathing the obvious weakness in her voice.

He smiled carefully at her, "I thought it may be alright, just this once."

"Do I have to go with you now?"

He nodded, his eyes full of painful regret. "I'm sorry I didn't come back, Minerva. I tried—you may have guessed—there wasn't anything wrong with the lights."

She nodded this time, "I had figured that out."

"I'm sorry for how they've treated you," he said, voicing the emotions she had known he held for some time. He wasn't the enemy. "I would stop them—I would. But it wouldn't help you, and I would lose my job, and then you would be completely alone," he explained carefully.

"I know," she croaked.

"Unfortunately, we really do have to go now."

Minerva stood up from the corner and followed him quietly to the door. He offered her an arm, and she could nearly cry from the courtesy. If she ever got out of this place, she was going to make sure he got any job he could dream of. She took his arm, "Thank you."

He just nodded, leading them along the hallway again, "Stay strong," he mouthed, opening the door for her, and she offered him a tight smile.

Entering the small room she was blinded by the bright fluorescents which assaulted her senses. She cringed and blinked awkwardly, feeling her way towards her chair. Sitting down carefully, she finally began to adjust to the bright light. In front of her sat Mellasandre, smirking at her obviously broken character. "Good Morning, Minerva."

Minerva didn't speak. She didn't have it in her to draw out her usual quips. Her strength was focused on keeping it all together. Mellasandre grinned all the more widely at Minerva's silence.

"Well Minerva, silence or no, today is a big big day!"

Minerva glared at the young woman.

"It is _very_ rare that we at the Ministry get to test our experiments, and even rarer to be chosen as a subject. You should be very proud." Mellasandre placed a cup of tea in front of Minerva, "Now dear, I'm sure you've missed tea over the last stretch of time. Make things easier for all of us, and drink your tea."

"Póg mo thóin," Minerva snapped harshly, causing Mellasandre to raise her eyebrows.

"In English please?"

"Kiss. My. Ass." Minerva spit.

"Ah, so you won't be cooperating then. Unfortunate." Mellasandre shook her head lightly before pulling her wand from her sleeve and waiving it gently towards the door.

A moment later Derek entered the room, glancing confusedly between Minerva and Mellasandre, "Ma'am?" he asked.

"Derek, I require your assistance. Minerva is being—difficult. She refuses to drink her potion."

Derek's eyebrows furrowed, "Sorry Ma'am, what are you looking for from me?"

"Well _I'm_ certainly not in any position to force her to take it," Mellasandre laughed.

"If you touch me, I will tear out your esophagus with my teeth," Minerva said plainly.

"See?" Mellasandre said with a wave towards Minerva. "If you could just…"

Derek shook his head, not quite understanding what was being suggested.

"Oh for the love of Merlin, just force her to take the damned potion Derek!"

He stepped back slightly, eyes wide, "What?"

Minerva watched him as he paled considerably, his hands shaking slightly, and she closed her eyes. "He doesn't have to do that," Minerva said softly.

Mel looked at her in surprise, "You're suddenly willing to cooperate?"

Minerva opened her eyes again, staring brightly into Mel's, "I shan't have you forcing unwilling subordinates to do your dirty work Mellasandre. I'll take the potion."

"Minerva," Derek said quietly, but she shook her head.

"Thank you Derek, but I don't think your services are required any longer. Please return to your regular duties," Minerva said severely, a touch of her old self flickering to life.

He nodded slightly, an apology in his eyes as he backed out of the room.

Mellasandre glared at Minerva, obviously displeased by the hijacking of her employee. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word Minerva stared her fiercely in the eyes and picked up the teacup.

She downed the cup of tea in a single shot.

* * *

Hermione paced at the bottom of the slide, casting a tempus charm every few moments, and muttering to herself nervously. Beside her Malcolm lounged against the wall, glancing around himself curiously.

"Calm down, lass. They'll be here soon," he sighed.

Hermione just shook her head quickly, "Harry and Ron were supposed to be here three minutes ago; they've been caught!"

Malcolm rolled his eyes, "It's only been three minutes. It's slow moving through a castle in the middle of the night.

Just as he finished his sentence Harry came sliding into view with Ron right behind him. They tripped over each other for a moment before finding their feet and looking towards Hermione, "Sorry, Mione," Ron said sheepishly.

"We got delayed by Filch on the fourth floor," Harry said apologetically.

Hermione gave Harry a hug, "I'm just glad you're both okay."

As she finished speaking Ginny came into view, "Wotcher!" she grinned dusting herself off, "Neville should be right behind me, he just gets nervous coming down the tunnel."

Just as she said it Neville tumbled into view, "Hi all," he greeted with a wave, glancing around he noted the singular absence, "Where's Luna?" he asked.

"Wasn't she supposed to arrive before us?" Ginny asked worriedly.

"You were a tad early," Harry explained.

"She was excited," Neville grinned, wrapping an arm around Ginny's shoulders and causing her to blush darkly.

"You two are very well suited," called an airy voice from behind them, causing several of them to jump.

"Hi Luna," Harry grinned, "You sure do know how to make an entrance."

She tilted her head, mildly reminiscent of a confused puppy, "What do you mean, Harry? I've been here for ages. I arrived before Hermione and her friend. I just didn't want to get in the way, so I stayed over there until everyone arrived," she explained, pointing to a darkened spot in the tunnel.

Hermione just shook her head, laughing slightly, "Alright then, now that we're all here—this is Malcolm McGonagall," she introduced, the intimidating man waved slightly from his place against the wall. "Do you all understand the plan?"

The group nodded, "A few things to remember then," Hermione said quickly, "Once we're in the Ministry, we stay together. No excuses. If you _do_ get split from the group, meet back by the elevators—disillusion yourself until the rest of us show up, alright?"

"We've got it," Harry said, squeezing Hermione's hand comfortingly.

She smiled at him briefly before snapping her fingers, "Alright, let's go meet up with the twins, and get this catastrophe started."

* * *

The effects of the tea were almost immediate. She had a moment of smirking pleasure, enjoying the surprise on Mellasandre's face, and then she was gone.

_Wispy grass blew uncontrollably on the top of the hill as Minerva looked down on the home below, her home. She smiled happily, spinning around in the wind and enjoying the pure freedom which this place allowed her. _

_Dancing down the hill she sang to herself, pleasantly remembering her father's fine voice and her mother's skill with the fiddle, wondering if they may be interested in playing this evening after dinner._

_She sped up at the thought; it felt like years since they had enjoyed the music that way. Approaching the house she found the gate unlocked and swinging haphazardly in the wind. 'Odd' she thought to herself as she shut it carefully behind her._

_That is when the screaming began._

_Terror filled screams echoed across the hills, and suddenly they were pressing in around her, forcing her to her knees. Fighting back to her feet, she sprinted to the doorway, trying desperately to open it, but the door was stuck—that door always seemed to be stuck. "Mum?" she called out fearfully, hoping and praying that it wasn't her screams she was hearing. _

_The screams continued, and Minerva knew that they were her mothers. The sound echoed at her from every direction and she tried desperately to pound down the door. She kicked and punched, relishing in the splintering of the door and her bones, sure that the pain would eventually lead to her mother. And yet no matter how hard she hit, and how much the wood splinted, the door didn't open and her Mother's screams echoed on._

_Suddenly Minerva was tumbling through the door as if she had been thrown, and she could see her mother crumpled on the floor, blood surrounding her and large portions of her skin flayed from her body. "Minerva," she moaned, "Go Minerva! Go!"_

_But Minerva didn't leave and she didn't turn away. She tried to run forward, tried to scoop up the fragile figure of her mother, but she couldn't. She was contained in some sort of bubble, unable to reach the fragmented woman._

_As the dark haired wizard stepped out of the darkness Minerva screamed in agonizing torment, "No!" she shouted, "Leave her alone! Take me!"_

_But the wizard ignored her entirely, casting the cruciatus curse on her mother's already fragile body, and laughing cruelly at his handiwork._

_The torture seemed to last for hours before finally ending—her mother left shattered in the middle of their living room carpet, empty eyes staring up at her unhelpful daughter._

Minerva lurched out of the dream state, emptying the contents of her stomach on the floor. She then lunged across the table, wrapping her strong slim fingers around the other woman's throat, "How _dare_ you!" she screamed as they toppled to the floor, "You psychotic _bitch_! How dare you play with someone that way!" Her fists hit their target desperately as tears fell torrentially from her eyes.

Mellasandre cried out as Minerva's fist hit her jaw with a sickening crack.

Suddenly strong arms were pulling Minerva away from her target as she screamed and kicked hysterically. "I'll kill you!"

"Minerva, you need to calm down," a voice said firmly from behind her—her captor. Glancing behind her she found Derek holding her arms tightly.

"Let me go," she begged, but he just shook his head.

"Minerva if you don't stop I'll have to bind you, I'll _have_ to."

Minerva shook for a moment, trying desperately to reclaim her control. "I'll stop," she said, choking painfully on the words.

He let her go, leading her back to her chair and setting the table upright again.

Mellasandre was slowly getting to her feet, holding a quickly swelling jaw, "Derek, if you would," she asked pointing to her jaw.

"Sorry Ma'am," he said innocently, "I never learned any healing spells, my apologies; I didn't expect to need them for this job. Perhaps Joel, in the office?" She groaned loudly as she limped from the room, forgetting Derek entirely. He looked back over towards her, "Are you alright?"

"Not even mildly," Minerva bit out. "You should have let me kill her."

"I did take my time entering the room," he said defensively, causing Minerva to sigh heavily.

"Thank you."

"Are you going to take it again?" He asked carefully.

"I don't seem to have much of a choice," she said, her left eye twitching slightly.

He nodded, "What—what did you see?"

Minerva stared blankly towards the wall, "My Mother's torture and murder."

Derek flinched, "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't a memory—I had heard about everything, even seen pictures from the Auror's files—but I wasn't actually there. The serum used my imagination, and my knowledge. It made me see it all," she said her whole body quivering; "They never even caught the bastard."

"Minerva, I am _so _sorry, please know that. But—"

"But?"

"But you can't do that again," he said stiffly. "If you do that again, I will have to restrain you—it'll make it worse, you know that. You can hold it in, Minerva."

She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes again, "I can't."

He took her face, tilting it so she was looking directly into his eyes, "You can."

She took a deep breath, "Okay—okay."

He squeezed her shoulder lightly before moving closer to the door, "I'll stay till she comes back."

Minerva nodded; appreciative of the support, however short lived. Wiping her eyes she took several more deep breaths. This was going to get worse before it got any better—but she could do it. She could.

* * *

_Black smoke swirled through her mind before landing her in a darkened room, stone walls surrounding her. She shivered unconsciously, wherever she was, it was cold and quiet—too quiet. There must be a silencing charm in place—no point in screaming then._

_She stood slowly, her bones protesting loudly as she stretched. She glanced around the barren room as she tried to recall how she had ended up here. _A mission for Albus_, she thought. Yes, definitely. She had been watching the Malfoy home for Death Eater activity and any sign of the Prewetts—they had gone missing the previous week, and had yet to be found._

_All she had seen was a newly pregnant Narcissa pacing the drawing room. What had happened next?_

_Well obviously she had been captured, that's the only possibility, right?_

_The walls were old, and she could feel the magic pulsating within them. "Damn," she swore out loud._ _ She was probably still at Malfoy Manor, and that was _not _a good place for her to be. _

_If she were to guess from the headache she was sporting, she had been stupefied. Meaning that if they left her until she woke up naturally, she would have been here for several hours at least, depending on the power behind the spell. Knowing Lucius Malfoy, she had probably been here overnight._

_At least Albus knew where she was._

_The door rattled slightly before someone carefully unlocked it. She scowled at the intruder, "Mr. Dolohov," she spat. _

"_Professor," he replied automatically, and she almost laughed. He had been her student not so long ago, and was obviously yet to rid himself of the habit. Still, it was funny—terrifying death eater, calling her professor. She stifled a laugh, but he caught her nonetheless. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"_

"_Well, I do have several Masteries—and I managed to avoid becoming a Death Eater—so yes, _fairly _clever seems accurate." He spit on her, causing her groan in disgust, "Really? Must you be so crude?"_

"_You want to see crude?" he snapped, "Crucio!"_

_Her head snapped back against the wall as she felt the overwhelming sensation engulf her entire body—but she did not scream. She felt every horrid sensation, but didn't so much as squeak. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. _

_When he stopped the spell, she breathed heavily, "That's the best you can do? You always were a fool of a student," she taunted._

_His eyes darkened at that, and Minerva could tell she had crossed some unspoken line. "Oh, I'll make you scream," he whispered menacingly, and Minerva felt herself backing up instinctively as he stepped towards her. "I'm _supposed_ to find out what you were doing here—but I imagine we can have a nice long chat later, can't we?"_

_Bile rose into the back of her throat as he ran a sweaty hand down the side of her face and clawed at her hair, pulling it out of its customary bun. Her eyes showed none of the humiliation she felt, nor the agonizing pain which screamed inside of her mind. They showed nothing but contempt and disgust as he ran his filth covered hand over her body, his wand slowly banishing her clothing._

Minerva shook slightly as she resurfaced from that particular hallucination, but firmly refused to scream. Just as she had in the hallucination, she refused to offer the satisfaction to her tormentor.

Realistically, she knew that the incident had ended there. The Order had shown up only moments after, breaking her and several other prisoners out of Malfoy Manor. She had been lucky—humiliated and disgusted—but she had still understood just what she had escaped from.

But in the vision—in the vision they hadn't come in time. They hadn't come at all.

Unfortunately for her tormentors, that particular nightmare had visited her semi-regularly over the years, and as much as she wanted to cry and scream and rage over the inhumane treatment, she could handle that particular fear. She had mastered it.

Looking into Mellasandre's eyes Minerva spit, "Did you enjoy the show?"

The Ministry witch had conscious enough to look down this time, and Minerva couldn't help but snort in response. It seemed that even the worst witches were uncomfortable with that particular idea—hits a bit too close to home.

She shook her head slightly, "Out of curiosity," Minerva asked quietly, "Have you had any luck accessing my other memories?"

"So far we've only been able to focus in on the memories you are projecting, and vague recollections—but I'm sure that with time we will access all we need. We at the ministry are _very_ patient."

Minerva took some comfort in the fact that they hadn't found anything yet, but she somehow doubted that she would continue to be that lucky.

Mellasandre pushed another tea towards Minerva, and she cringed lightly, unable to hide the look of disgust came over her. "Are we going to need to call Derek after all?"

Minerva shot an icy glare in her direction, "Certainly not. I was simply curious if I could drink the potion straight—rather than deluding it with tea? I'm rather sick of drinking tea."

With a wave of her wand a shot glass full of a tar-like substance appeared in front of Minerva, "Enjoy."

* * *

Hours passed, of that much Minerva had been sure. It had been before dawn when Minerva had been brought in, if the scent of coffee wafting through the Hallways was anything to judge by. She could only guess that the strange timing of her interrogations was another attempt at throwing her off.

She was fairly confident that last week they had pulled her out of her room sometime after midnight, but she had no way to be sure.

Still, she had taken four different potions at this point, and while each memory seemed to last for hours, in reality it was only several minutes. As Mel pushed another tar-like potion in her direction she swallowed it without question, the shaking in her wrist the only indicator that her entire being was petrified to be drawn back into another waking nightmare.

_Minerva woke up slowly, blinking the incoming sunlight from her eyes and stretching slightly. She hummed blissfully as she felt the warmth of the person snuggled up next to her. She smiled at the woman wrapped in her arms, though she had spent most of yesterday in the arms of her partner, it felt like months since she had seen last seen her. She curled herself around the beautiful brunette, wrapping her arms around her and allowing her fingers to trail the outside of her naked hip. She watched as her lover smiled softly and blew a stray curl out of her face._

"_Goodmorning, Sunshine," Hermione whispered._

"_Goodmorning, Darling," Minerva smiled, kissing the back of Hermione's shoulder softly. "I missed you."_

_Hermione chuckled lowly, "During the four hours we've been asleep? You know, some people would call that _'clingy'_."_

"_Certainly," Minerva affirmed, pulling the smaller girl ever so slightly tighter against her, "But if some people had a lovely witch like you sharing their bed, they would cling as well."_

_Hermione smiled blissfully, "I love you so much, Min. So much."_

"_And I you."_

_Hermione gently turned over, her beauty on display as she grinned cheekily, "Are you just going to stare? Or are you going to do something about it?"_

_Minerva laughed lightly as she rolled over onto the lovely witch, straddling her carefully, "Oh I plan on doing quite a few something's about it," she grinned. She leaned down the kiss Hermione, but suddenly felt a chill engulf her. _

_Something was wrong—something was very wrong. Looking around quickly, she stepped from the bed, covering Hermione behind her. "Min? What's the matter?" Hermione asked quietly. _

_Minerva shook her head as she pulled a robe around her, "I don't know, Mione. I just—something's not right here."_

_Just as the statement left her mouth the door of their room shot off of its hinges, splintering against the wall on impact. In its wake stood Bellatrix LeStrange, twirling her wand happily as she glanced between the two witches. "Well isn't this a lovely, and unexpected site," she crooned. "Big bad McGonagall decided to bed a student? How terrible!"_

_Hermione inched slowly towards her wand, stored in her bedside drawer. Minerva shook her head desperately, that move was far too risky. Hermione stopped momentarily as Bellatrix cackled, "Now what shall I do about these two?"_

_She pointed her wand towards Minerva just as Hermione shot her hand into her drawer—but she was too slow. The green jet of light hit Hermione firmly between her breasts, her wand clattering to the floor as she collapsed lifeless on the bed._

"_No!" Minerva screeched, running for Hermione. "No, no, no, no, no, no!"_

_She cradled Hermione in her arms as the tears flowed from her eyes and Bellatrix approached her from behind, laying a falsely comforting hand on her back, "Oh, poor Minerva. Finally finding love, only to have her die in such a tragic accident."_

_Minerva didn't move, she was frozen in place, incapable of exacting the revenge she so desperately craved. Bellatrix shook her head and tutted softly, "Well, I'm not completely inhumane," she hummed, "I wouldn't do such an awful thing and then kill you as well. That would just be far too tragic for my tastes. I think I'll leave you be, give you a good long while to grieve._

_Minerva choked on the sobs that were caught in her throat as she watched Bellatrix disappear in a puff of smoke. Hermione was dead, and Bellatrix hadn't even had the courtesy to send Minerva with her."_

* * *

Black smoke billowed out of the lift as it came to a stop on the ninth floor, and Hermione slid silently from the lift, glancing around her before beckoning to her friends.

"Well that was a waist of some perfectly wonderful Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," Fred complained.

"Really, you'd think they weren't expecting us at all!" George complained.

"Will you two _kindly_ shut up?" Hermione snapped glancing around. "There's no one here."

"No one that you can _see_," Malcolm corrected, "I'm going for the wand, I'll meet you there."

Hermione nodded quickly as he transformed into his owl, flying silently away. "Alright," Hermione breathed, "Locator charm, right—_Invenio_."

As quickly as the word was spoken a thin ribbon of silver smoke began pouring out of her wand and drifting down the hallway in front of her. "Okay everyone, wands out."

As they moved down the hallways they heard the confused voices of several Unspeakables, "What's that?" one said confusedly, obviously having seen the long ribbon of silver smoke drifting past their office.

"Intruders, must be!" exclaimed a voice.

"Looks like Minerva's cavalry has finally arrived, it's about time," the final one grumbled. They heard a swift pair of "Stupefy!"

Hermione's eyebrows rose comically as she listened, but she darted around the corner nonetheless, "Freeze!" she snapped, her wand at his throat.

"Whoa, whoa! Take it easy!" He shouted, jumping slightly. "I just stupefied these two; do you want me to show you how to get to Minerva?"

Hermione blinked owlishly at the young Unspeakable, "What? But—you work for them?"

"I'm Derek," he introduced, "I've been with Minerva daily, but I didn't have a way to help her without getting us both locked up. I've just been waiting for her rescue team. Took you long enough, by the way."

Hermione growled slightly as Harry pushed in front of her, lowering her wand, "Hermione, he can help—let him."

"Hermione, eh?" Derek said with a smile, "And you'd be Harry Potter."

"Look, can you help us find Minerva, or not?" Harry asked stiffly, clearly uncomfortable with being recognized.

"Follow me," he said pointing them down the hall. "Joel did alert security, but you should still have a few minutes—the Ministry has never been accused of being fast, have they?"

Ginny snorted slightly, causing Derek to smile. "So you're telling us that we can just walk in and out with her?"

Derek frowned deeply, "It won't be that easy, she—she's not had an easy day. If only you had gotten here yesterday. I don't know if she'll be able to walk, and she's currently in interrogation."

"Why wouldn't she be able to walk?" Hermione squeaked, panic obvious in her voice.

"She hasn't eaten in three days, and she's had a _very_ tough day. I'm leaving it to her to explain."

"And you didn't do _anything_ to help?" Ron said, disgust obvious in his voice.

"He couldn't," Luna said quietly from the back of their troop, "Isn't that obvious? If he had stood up for her, they would have failed—obviously. And then she would have been all alone. He didn't make a move because he didn't want her to be completely alone."

Derek gave a small smiled of gratitude in Luna's direction, "Exactly. She needed someone on her side. Security will probably find you before you fully escape, but this time of day—you'll outnumber them."

Hearing about how much time Derek had spent with Min, Hermione tried to stifle the small stab of irrational jealousy as they hurried down another hallway. As they entered the last hallway they could here an outraged scream, "You will leave her alone!" Minerva screamed hysterically, and you could hear the clattering of a chair falling to the floor.

"Bugger," Derek swore, "She's lost her temper again."

Hermione started to take off running, but Derek stopped her. "Let me—she'll be expecting me to come in and get control of Minerva anyways, I can stupefy her without drawing any extra attention."

Hermione found herself about to argue, but Harry held her back, "It's what's most _logical_ Hermione, let him." Hermione nodded stiffly.

Derek opened the door silently, and they could hear a nasally voice exclaiming, "Oh that is interesting information, Miss. McGonagall, very interesting information. Certainly not what I was looking for, but it could prove useful—profitable if nothing else."

A deafening slap echoed from the room and the nasally voice silenced, "I won't let you go near her."

Derek's voice cut through the room, "Stupefy."

* * *

To say Minerva was surprised would be a severe understatement. She nearly collapsed in shock as she watched Mellasandre crumple to the floor.

"Derek!" Minerva squeaked, "What about staying under the radar? Not leaving me alone?" She shook her head quickly, "I'm going to be alone here—they're going to keep me forever and I won't have a single friendly person to speak with! How could you be so imbecilic!?" Minerva rambled, on the verge of hyperventilation.

"Don't think that's going to be so much of a problem now," Derek muttered, smiling lightly.

From the doorway Hermione came bounding in, throwing herself at Minerva, "You're alive!" She cried.

Minerva felt herself stumbling, but Hermione held her up, suddenly remembering their situation, "You came," Minerva whispered, voice in complete shock. "You came for me."

"I'll always come for you," Hermione whispered, holding on to Minerva desperately.

A snort came from the doorway, and then the sound of someone being smacked, "What, are you going to say that you didn't think the same thing?" George snickered.

"That's beside the point!" Ginny whispered, "They're being romantic."

"And talking about coming," Fred grinned.

"You'd think they'd at least wait until they escaped…" George said, shaking his head in pseudo disappointment.

"Shut up!" Ginny squeaked.

"Well I suppose if we all turned away…"

"No, Luna. Just—no," Neville said, choking desperately.

Harry glared at all of them, "You're disgusting, the whole lot of you."

Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "I hate to be _that_ person, but we should probably get out of here."

As the words tumbled from his mouth, Malcolm swooped in through the doorway, transforming instantly. "Security is on the way, we've got to run for it. That medallion won't work unless you get to the Ministry Atrium. Get moving!"

He started shooing the teenagers from the room, taking a brief moment to give Minerva a hug. "Never do that to me again, big sister." She smiled weakly at him, "Will you be able to make it to the Atrium?"

She nodded quickly, "I'll be okay, Malcolm. Get up in the front and help them deal with security—I'm useless in a fight right now."

Malcolm grinned and handed her the fir wand from his sleeve, "Not quite useless, Minnie."

She smiled widely, "Thank you."

They hurried through the door, and Hermione kept a firm hand around Minerva, taking some of her weight. As they turned out of the second hallway beams of light began surrounding them, Luna was briefly stupefied, but Neville was able to reneverate her immediately.

Hermione let go of Minerva briefly, hurrying forwards to stun three different wizards, while Harry took care of another two. Luna surprised everyone by petrifying an Auror, and Malcolm finished off the final four. "Come on," he snapped, taking charge of the operation. "There'll be more coming soon enough!"

Fred let loose another batch of darkness powder, as they turned the corner, blinding the Aurors who were moving through that hallway. As the powder faded away the group moved quickly into the Lift, just barely squeezing the ten of them in.

The lift moved slowly to the top floor, and Hermione savored the brief moment of peace, allowing Minerva to lean against her entirely, and kissing her temple. "I'm so glad we found you," she whispered.

"I thought I was going to be here forever," Minerva answered.

"Never," Hermione promised. "I'm just sorry it took me so long."

The doors opened, and as they poured out into the Atrium Hermione could hear footsteps quickly approaching. She wrapped an arm around tightly around Minerva before proclaiming loudly, "IF you're riding with me, you better grab ahold of each other quickly."

She waited just a moment, before depending on her friends to have worked quickly, and placing her wand against the medallion, "Portus." She proclaimed, and felt herself sigh in relief as the familiar tugging sensation began at her naval.

They had made it.

* * *

**I very much hope you enjoyed this chapter, I know I did. It'll be a few more days before I have another chapter for you-mostly because I was impatient in sharing this one. But hopefully it'll hold you off until then!**

(PS: I'm glad you all hate Mel as much as I do. What started off as just your basic condesending Ministry employee turned into something much worse, and I felt a keen sense of satisfaction when Minerva launched herself over the table and broke her jaw... and face... and tried to choke her to death. Oh, Muggle justice!)


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I am COMPLETELY overwhelmed by the reaction I got to Chapter 17, and incredibly appreciative. I had been so excited to share that with you all, and I'm glad that it was worth the wait! Now, for something a bit more fluff-filled. Oh, and Lemons. A definite lemon here. The rating has officially changed.**

**A HUGE thank you to the ever inspirational CherriiMarina who was my guest-Beta this chapter, and helped me get over my worries and embarrassment over this chapter as a whole.**

**Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

Minerva walked gingerly down the stairs of her old home, surprised to find it almost completely empty. When she had fallen asleep, nearly twelve hours ago, there had been almost a dozen people bustling about. But apparently the rest of the students had returned to their homes for the Easter Holiday, all except Hermione. Even Malcolm had said goodbye, off on his most recent adventure after promising to write more often.

Standing on the landing she stared across her old home; it had been nearly ten years since she had been here, but it still felt safe. The hard wood stairs opened up into a generously sized living space. A large stone fireplace dominated the room, surrounded by two faded yellow couches, and a small coffee table. The fireplace was flanked by two large windows with blue curtains, and a pale green carpet filled the small space. Minerva smiled at the sight—her mother had picked out the furniture and curtains many years ago, and she could still remember her parents feuding over the vibrant colors.

Her father found the bright scheme clashing and indulgent, while her mother considered it cheerful. In the end her mother had told her father that if he didn't like them, he should feel free to replace them himself.

He never had, and therefore never noticed the permanent sticking charm which her mother had wandlessly cast. It wasn't until they had both passed, that Malcolm discovered the immovable furniture.

Connected to the living space was a large dining room with a chandelier and an enormous table. It was large enough to seat eight people, and yet they had never had more than five. A small floral arrangement sat in the middle, charmed to never wilt, and bright daffodils and daisies brought a certain cheerfulness to that side of the room. Her mother was always insistent on making the house as cheerful as possible. As serious of a man as her father was, Minerva always guessed that it was her mother's incessant pleasantness which had ensnared him.

But her childhood home, and the many pleasant memories it held, wasn't what made her smile the widest. Situated in the corner of one of the couches she found Hermione, eyebrows slightly furrowed as a beam of sunlight annoyed her eyes while she read. Not that the young witch had noticed, that much was obvious. Her eyes squinted at the pages of her book, and she twirled her wand in her extra hand.

Minerva smiled at the sight, she was blissfully happy to be in her company again. When they had arrived Minerva was immediately fed a handful of potions, she had barely had time to appreciate the feel of the petite brunette curling up behind her in bed, holding her safely in her arms.

Now that she was at least somewhat rested, she could tell that Hermione had fared little better than her over the past month, and was obviously at the end of her tether. According to Malcolm, when he had arrived at Hogwarts, Hermione hadn't slept or eaten much at all, and Harry had resorted to doing her homework. She was hardly functioning.

That was why Minerva had wanted to meet with Albus so quickly—she wanted Hermione to be able to rest.

Before leaving, Derek had pulled her aside—apparently he had left early that afternoon and gone to meet with the Minister and Albus. After showing them the memories he held and describing what else he knew of the situation, Mellasandre had been arrested. She had apparently fooled quite a few people into believing that Minerva was simply receiving medical care from the Department of Mysteries, and was dangerous to be in contact with. The only people who knew otherwise were her subordinates—all of whom had been under the impression that she had ministry approval for her actions. In short—no one had called her on her lies, and Minerva had suffered for it.

They had wanted Minerva to report to Hogwarts and give her testimony immediately, but she had refused. She had only just escaped, and as much as she trusted Derek, she didn't trust the Ministry at all. Hence the meeting with Albus—she was going to give him her demands, and listen to the offer from the Ministry—hopefully they would be safe before the night was finished, and able to enjoy a few moments of peace.

Hermione looked up from her book, hearing a soft creak on the stairs and caught Minerva staring. She smiled brightly in welcome, before donning an expression of disapproval, "Shouldn't you still be in bed?"

Minerva walked down the remainder of the stairs, "I'll be damned if Albus is going to find me in bed—I plan on being exceptionally terrifying."

Hermione grinned, "I tried that a few weeks ago, he didn't seem overly impressed by my Minerva impression—it certainly did nothing to speed him up."

"Well perhaps it would help to observe _the _Minerva McGonagall in person?"

"I'm always happy to observe you," Hermione replied cheekily, sending a wink towards Minerva.

Minerva wrapped her arms around Hermione from behind the couch, kissing the back of her neck gently, "What are you reading?"

"The Three Musketeers," Hermione said softly.

Minerva quirked her head to the side slightly, remembering, "Didn't you borrow that months ago? I assumed you would have finished it before the day was out."

Hermione blushed before quietly replying, "I did—But I took to reading it while you were gone. It was strangely comforting."

Minerva sighed deeply, "After my Mum was killed I read The Wizard of Oz nearly thirty times—it was the first book we had read together when I was a child."

Hermione stared at the book in her hands, lightly caressing the paperback cover, "I think I've read it nearly a dozen times now," she whispered, "I just needed that small connection."

Another kiss, below the ear this time, "I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

Hermione shook her head, turning slightly in her seat to look at Minerva, "It wasn't your fault—I just missed you," she sniffed, trying to contain the tears which threatened to fall. "I was scared, Minerva. Absolutely petrified."

She walked around the couch, sitting atop the small coffee table, and pressed her forehead gently against Hermione's, holding her hands tightly, "I was too," she confided, "I find I don't much like that feeling."

She kissed Hermione gently, allowing her hand to reach up and softly trail the younger woman's face, memorizing the delicate curve of her cheek. It was Hermione who pulled her ever so slightly closer, wrapping her arms tightly around Minerva's neck. Several tears fell from her eyes, uncontained relief and sorrow for what she had experienced, for what _they_ had experienced.

It was obvious that Hermione had suffered equally—she may not have felt the physical pain, but the fear was as real for her as it had ever been for Minerva, even more so perhaps.

A light cough from behind shocked them from their stolen moment, causing Hermione to startle and Minerva to brandish her wand threateningly.

Albus Dumbledore stood before her, having just dusted himself off from the fireplace. He smiled lightly, his eyes twinkling happily, "Minerva, I'm so glad to see that you're alright."

Minerva scowled icily, not lowering her wand quite yet, "No thanks to you, Albus."

He glanced towards Hermione, whose previously peaceful expression had quickly distorted itself into one of barely contained malice. She sat back on the couch, her legs crossed in front of her. "Now Minerva," he said patiently, "You must try to understand the situation we found ourselves in."

"We?" Minerva said frigidly, finally allowing her wand to drop as she paced. "I don't actually recall you being there Albus. I'm sure that you went through _quite_ a bit yourself, but first—shall I fill you in on what you missed during the situation_ we_ found ourselves in?"

Albus' eyes dimmed significantly as he watched his oldest friend take a seat next to Hermione. "While you were doing who knows what, I was held in captivity for 21 days. I was tortured using Veritaserum for several of those days, Legilimency for several more. There were a total of six days—two three day periods—where I did not eat, three of those days in complete isolation and darkness. I was then given the rare opportunity of testing out a newly invented potion which causes nightmares to come to life."

Albus sat heavily on the opposite couch, and Hermione's eyes widened. They hadn't had the opportunity to catch up on all of this, and Minerva felt a tinge of regret that Hermione was hearing it in such a way—but it couldn't be helped. Albus _needed _to know what he had left her to. "Such nightmares included, but were not limited to, the torture and murder of my mother—in beautifully realistic detail, if the Auror reports were anything to go off of," Minerva bristled, "My rape and torture at the hands of Antonin Dolohov. And the murder of Hermione."

"Minerva—I'm sorry for what you've experienced," Albus said carefully, and Minerva snapped. She stood up quickly, her fury causing her to tower over the ancient wizard.

"Don't be _sorry for what I've experienced_, Albus. Be sorry that you left me there!" she shouted, "I went willingly—to make things easier for _you_. I was careful and complied with their every request—to make things easier for you! I thought I would be free by the end of the first _day_. Then I was confident that I would be out by the end of the week. Twenty-one days Albus! I trusted you, and you just _left_ me."

Minerva stumbled back onto the couch, pulling her legs up against her chest, and allowing Hermione to wrap an arm around her. After a moment of silence Albus finally spoke, "I'm sorry, Minerva. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner—I believed—I believed that I was making the right decision. I believed that I should try to work within the system," He let out a shaky breath, "I was wrong."

"Damn right you were wrong," Hermione bit out, but Minerva quieted her with a hand.

"Albus, you have been my best friend for the majority of my life. I've trusted you with _everything_. I don't understand how you could just leave me there—I need to try to understand."

"I was of the belief that if I forcibly removed you from the Ministry you would be back in their custody within a matter of days. By all appearances they had the necessary legal justification. I would have lost my position as Headmaster. I was concerned for you, for our students and, admittedly, for myself. But in retrospect, I should have displayed more of my inner Gryffindor."

"A group of seventh and eighth year students, two Hogwarts drop outs, and an ex-Auror hermit got her out in just over an hour," Hermione said quietly. "You should have listened to me."

"Yes," Albus said simply. "I made a terrible mistake, and there is nothing which I can do to atone for that."

Minerva looked at Albus closely, and nodded slightly.

"Should we move on to Ministry business?" Hermione asked carefully, well aware of the thick tension filling the room.

Minerva nodded, "But first—I need to know—did they get any information from the use of their serum?"

Albus smiled genuinely, "No, Minerva. You did brilliantly. Even under the most magnificent pressure, you didn't budge."

Minerva heaved an enormous sigh of relief, "Thank Merlin."

"Not Merlin," Hermione smiled, "just you."

"They do know about Hermione," Minerva said quietly, "But I can't seem to force myself to care."

"We've dealt with worse at this point," Hermione said quietly, "If it somehow leaks, we'll handle it."

Albus smiled, "They shouldn't be leaking any information to the press—they wish to keep the newspapers as uninformed as possible at this point, so even the gossip is being kept confidential."

Minerva rested her head lightly against Hermione's shoulder, "That is all the better then."

Albus sighed, "They do wish to question you," he admitted, causing Hermione and Minerva to both stiffen, "I've told Kingsley that is out of the question at the moment. They may fully debrief you at such a time that you feel fit, but that is entirely your decision. He has also agreed that this questioning will occur at a place of your choosing. Hogwarts, if you wish."

Minerva nodded, "That's fine," she agreed tiredly, "As long as it's just Kingsley."

"He's already agreed to that," Albus said, pausing briefly, "If I may interject—you should know that Kingsley is incredibly remorseful. He looks up to you quite a bit Minerva, and was under the misguided impression that the Department of Mysteries was _helping_ you."

Minerva shook her head lightly, "It was an accident—A problem within the system, not with him. I may be angry, but I understand that. I'll make sure to bring it up when I see him."

Albus eyed the two witches carefully, seemingly nervous about the next parcel of information he was required to share, "The Ministry would also like information regarding the potion which you were doused with. They want to keep others safe, and are curious about its healing properties."

Hermione scoffed as Minerva said, "Absolutely not."

"I agree," Albus said quickly.

"I've actually thought about this quite a bit," Minerva began, "And I will agree to the following list of demands."

She handed Albus a carefully scripted piece of parchment, her demands written clearly. "I will attend bi-monthly appointments at St. Mungo's as a way of monitoring my health and making sure that something doesn't suddenly go wrong with this whole situation. That was something I was considering already, but I'm willing to make the Ministry privy to that process. The information regarding my transformation will be collected from Fred and George, and I will find somewhere safe for it. It will _only_ become public record _after _I have died, and only if my death is the result of causes unrelated to my transformation. I will _not_ risk this potion getting dispersed to the public, and then discovering horrifying side effects."

"I think they will be agreeable to those terms."

"I also want it in writing that myself and all those involved with this potion will be safe from Ministerial persecution or detainment. Including myself, Hermione, Fred, George, Malcolm, and you. Obviously these people should not be mentioned by name—too much of a paper trail—but it should be worded in such a way that everyone will be safe."

Albus nodded serenely, "I don't think that will be a problem at all; lucky for us we have a friend in office at the moment."

Minerva thought for a moment longer, "One more thing," she said finally, "I want Derek to be given whatever job he chooses within the Department of Mysteries. I suspect that he is interested in research. That job should be his."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Albus paused for a moment, "Is that fair, Minerva? I don't know that others will appreciate him being given a job without having earned the position."

"He earned the position Albus," she said warningly, and Albus nodded his head in defeat.

"Alright," he said finally, "I'll make it happen."

Hermione gave a small smile, "It's all that easy?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," Albus said, some of the former twinkle returning to his eye. "It should have been this simple from the beginning, had I been as courageous as Minerva."

"You really believe the Ministry will accept all of my demands?" Minerva asked doubtfully.

"The Ministry is concerned that you are going to inform the press of this situation—something which you would be entirely entitled to do. They're willing to do just about anything to avoid that kind of scandal."

Minerva chuckled derisively, "My going to the press? Un-bloody-likely."

* * *

The first day, after the early morning rescue had been successful, Minerva had needed someone there—someone to remind her that she wasn't alone, that her rescue had been real. That was why she had crawled into bed behind her—that was why she had held the woman through her nightmares. Hermione hadn't considered her own desires at that moment; she had simply wanted to comfort the woman with whom she was in love.

But last night Hermione had nearly moved to the bedroom across the hall. She had expected Minerva would want her privacy, no matter how much Hermione hated when she wasn't in her sight. But as Hermione placed her hand on the chilled doorknob Minerva had laughed lightly, shaking her head, and pulled Hermione by the hand into her own room.

With a flick of the wand she was comfortably dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, her hair carefully braided. Hermione had been shocked for a moment, before giving in to her desperate need for contact. She had wrapped her arms delicately around Minerva, her lips resting lightly against her shoulder, and they had fallen asleep, finally allowing themselves to rest.

It was nearly ten when Hermione woke up the next day, her body stiff from the discomfort of sharing a single bed, not that she was complaining. Minerva had rolled over onto her open arm, using her it as a temporary pillow, and she seemed quite content in her position. Hermione smiled, more than willing to ignore the uncomfortable numbness in favor of the close proximity to the other woman.

Sunlight was painting freckles on her as a lone strand of hair drifted across her face, tickling her nose faintly. Hermione chuckled softly; Minerva was unquestioningly beautiful this way, but also utterly adorable. Somehow Hermione doubted that the formidable Deputy Headmistress had been described using that adjective on many occasions.

As Hermione studied Minerva a soft sigh parted her lips, followed by a light purring in her chest. Hermione laughed lightly, amused by her Animagus nature—at least until a tired hand began to trail its fingers up her thigh and over her hip. Minerva moaned lightly in her sleep, as slender fingers found the soft skin of Hermione's side.

She gasped in surprise as the fingers drew soft butterflies on her skin, before lightly brushing over her breast. A tight heat filled Hermione at the feel of the exploratory fingers, her hips rolling forward instinctively.

The sudden rolling motion seemed to wake Minerva from her sleeping state. She gasped slightly upon finding her fingers toying with Hermione's nipple, and pulled back instantly, her body flushing with embarrassment, "I'm—I'm sorry," she stuttered unsurely, "I didn't mean to—"

Minerva silenced immediately as Hermione, in an act of unprecedented courage, pulled her hand back to its previous location, squeezing gently, "Feel free," she whispered, before leaning over to kiss Minerva fiercely.

Minerva's head spun as she kissed the cherished Gryffindor, unsure of what exactly was happening—but certainly not arguing against it. She experimentally rolled a nipple between her fingers, delighting in the low growl which Hermione exhaled.

Minerva's lips began to travel lower, pausing for a torturous moment at Hermione's collarbone, marking her insistently as the younger witch arched her back desperately. "Yes," Hermione moaned, her mind fogging from the prolonged contact, and insistently pulling Minerva's shirt from her body.

She was greeted with the beautiful sight of a topless Minerva McGonagall, who quickly moved to balance their lack of clothing and immediately straddled her hips. Hermione stared unabashedly as the impressive woman, who quirked an eyebrow and grinned mischievously, "Enjoying yourself?" she asked lightly, forcing the nervous tremor from her voice.

Hermione nodded dreamily, her eyes glued to the marvelous woman atop her, "I love you," she said unthinkingly, causing Minerva's eyes to widen. Hermione blushed furiously, and Minerva had to shake her head, forcing concentration as she tried not to notice just how far that scarlet tint traveled. Hermione back peddled desperately, "Not because of this—obviously. I mean—I already loved you, long before now, I just—bugger." Hermione winced, "I'm really screwing this up."

Minerva ran a hand down Hermione's face, causing the younger witch to open her eyes cautiously. Minerva was smiling above her, "I love you too," she said simply.

"I haven't done this before," Hermione said quietly, a bubble of laughter escaping her as she realized how cliché she sounded.

Minerva chuckled lightly as her hand allowed itself to drift between her legs. "I've always found you to be an avid student," she whispered, allowing a single slim finger to part Hermione's folds, becoming instantly slick with her arousal. Hermione gasped lightly, bucking her hips. "You're sure you're alright with this?" Minerva asked quietly, stilling her fingers momentarily.

"Yes," the young witch gasped.

Minerva smiled predatorily as she slid another finger against her sex, fluttering lightly over Hermione's clit, and enjoying the breathless encouragement she was awarded. "I love you," she whispered as she leaned in to kiss her gently beneath the ear.

Hermione purred in response, her hips rotating against Minerva's hand. Lowering herself slowly, she allowed her body to lightly brush against Hermione's as she moved, causing the younger witch to moan uncontrollably and whisper, "You're perfect Min, absolutely everything I imagined you could be."

Minerva kissed Hermione's inner thigh, causing the woman to hiss in pleasure as she teased, "You've _imagined_ me, have you?"

Hermione groaned, "Constantly—you fill my dreams, you vixen of a woman."

"Hmm," Minerva hummed, "Well I certainly hope I don't disappoint. Tell me, did your fantasy me do this?" She slowly pushed her fingers inside of the Gryffindor, groaning herself at the tightness which surrounded the digits.

"Yes!" Hermione cried out, and Minerva allowed her thumb to gently stroke her clit, causing the girl to express several obscenities, and one desperate plea. Leaning down, Minerva let out a breath against Hermione's center as she asked, "What about this?" before swiping her tongue briefly along Hermione's entrance.

Hermione shook in surprise, her entire body darting towards Minerva, as she gave a shocked, "N-No, no she didn't."

"Well—perhaps I shouldn't," Minerva teased, running her tongue along the same path again.

"Please" Hermione begged, and Minerva couldn't find it in her to deny the young woman any longer. She thrust her fingers fully into Hermione's dripping sex, and finally allowed her tongue to move eagerly against her, her lips occasionally sucking gently and causing Hermione to cry out.

She could feel her lover growing tighter as she moved, and gave an experimental hum against her swollen clit. The light vibrations caused Hermione's head to roll back, her back arching desperately as she toppled over the edge with an enthusiastic cry. After a moment, Minerva slowly pulled away, kissing Hermione's trembling legs lightly. She moved up her lover's body, gently sucking at her hip bone before happily discovering just how ticklish she was as she pressed a light kiss to her stomach. She groaned in incomparable delight as she swirled a tongue around each of Hermione's erect nipples, enjoying the breathless sigh which each small movement caused. She kissed her lightly on the neck, and nipped affectionately at the place she had marked earlier, before lightly kissing that same spot beneath her ear, smiling as she whispered, "_That _spot may be my very favorite of all."

Hermione blushed prettily under Minerva's attention, and she couldn't stifle a small laugh, "After everything I've just done, _that_ is what makes you blush?"

Hermione smiled sleepily despite the slightly professorial tone to her voice, "People kiss and have sex without being in _love_ all the time—but that, what you just did there—that isn't about sex. It's pure uninhibited love, and seems to take far more vulnerability and courage, in my opinion."

Minerva smiled lightly and placed a soft kiss against Hermione's lips, "You are wise beyond your years, little one." She wrapped an arm around Hermione, nestling her chin against her shoulder as the exhausted young woman drifted off beside her. They still had days of recuperating to do, but Minerva smiled youthfully as she thought, _This seems like an awfully nice way to go about it._

* * *

**Thank you for reading, and please consider reviewing! You keep me inspired!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Finished another update for you all! So you should know, the scrabble scene comes DIRECTLY from my own life. I put down the word Zen. Also, I'm sorry if there was any confusion at the end of this chapter. We still have several chapters to go, and certainly aren't finished. I'll be sure to say goodbye before it's over. ;-)**

* * *

"That is not a suitable word," Minerva said, her slim finger pointing at the three offensive tiles.

"What? Of course it is!"

Minerva raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow towards Hermione, "Define it," she challenged, causing Hermione to stumble.

"I can't just _define_ it, Minerva. It's a very fluid term—a state of mind."

"Incorrect."

Hermione glared, "You're just upset because that word will earn me 33 points, meaning that I'm a total of 20 points ahead of you, _Professor_."

"That is _not_ why I'm upset. I just understand the importance of following rules when playing Scrabble, and Zen is not an appropriate submission."

"Why _not_?"

"Well you have no idea what it means, for one."

"That isn't a rule."

"Yes it is. Besides, even if you _did _know what it means, it is a foreign word and therefore inapplicable."

"It hasn't been a foreign word since the seventies—or something like that. I assure you, it's been very popular in muggle conversation for quite some time."

"Colloquialism has no impact on the rules of scrabble," Minerva said sternly, her lips pursed in their customary Professor McGonagall scowl.

"It isn't just colloquialism, it's a word. It's a peaceful state of being, another level of existence. I think it's Buddhist," Hermione babbled hopefully.

Minerva actually rolled her eyes at the argumentative brunette, this was the third word they had ended up quarreling over during this game, and she was determined not to let Hermione win this time. She glared at the woman in front of her as she carefully picked up the three offensive tiles, "Z-E-N, Zen: A Japanese philosophy popular in Mahayana Buddhism which emphasizes enlightenment through meditation."

She handed the tiles to Hermione, whose mouth was dropped open slightly, "I can't believe you knew that."

Minerva smirked gleefully, "Sorry pet, but that word is not acceptable according to the rulebook."

"You put down the word 'ridikulus', _that_ isn't proper English either. It's a Latin hybrid and a wizarding word. Not muggle English," Hermione argued petulantly, desperately clinging to her 33 points.

Minerva smiled lightly, "And we agreed to an exception for magical terminology before we started playing—if you had told me we were allowed to use foreign words, I would have pulled out my extensive Gaelic vocabulary."

Hermione glared, taking the pieces back, and studying her tiles begrudgingly. "You're a vicious scrabble player," she pouted. Her expression was clouded with a frustrated desperation as she searched her tiles, trying to catch up with Minerva. Suddenly a troublesome grin lit up her face, and she placed three more tiles, "Zep!"

Minerva frowned distastefully, "What is a Zep?"

"A large sandwich made of a long crusty roll split lengthwise and filled with meats and cheese; different names are used in different sections of the United States," she quoted dutifully. "I was bored one day as a child and sat for several hours trying to memorize the Scrabble dictionary—I wasn't successful, but some select terms stuck with me. Including—Zep!"

"But—that—It's still a foreign word, and colloquial!" Minerva sputtered desperately.

"Oh, we aren't using those?" Hermione teased, "Then I suppose I should take back the 46 points _you_ managed for Jambalaya on a double word?"

Minerva glared, "Fine. I'll accept it."

"Wonderful! That's worth 42 points," she laughed, "That would be 9 points more than Zen was worth!"

"You cheat."

"You're just mad that you finally found someone who can compete with you at Scrabble."

Minerva gifted her a small smile, "That's true—though Severus was a fair player. He just tended to pout for far too long when I beat him."

"Well you shouldn't have to worry about that with me—looking at the score," Hermione winked.

Minerva frowned for a moment before adopting a more devious expression, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "I'm sure that there must be _something _I can do to remedy that score," she purred, moving around the table gracefully and wrapping her arms around Hermione, kissing the back of her neck.

Hermione sighed lightly; turning around in her chair to pull Min closer, she kissed her for a moment before leaning up to her ear and whispering, "I shan't be bought, Minerva McGonagall."

She quickly darting away from the taller woman, score sheet in hand. Sprinting for the sitting room, she leapt onto one of the couches, and stood tall upon one of the arms. She grinned down at a shocked Minerva, "And for your terrible crime of attempting to bribe the scorekeeper," she called out dramatically, "I hereby declare myself life-long champion and Scrabble-Goddess-Divine!"

She then did a spectacular pirouette before throwing herself down on the couch. Minerva laughed as she moved towards the giggling woman, and held out a hand. Hermione looked at it questioningly for a moment before taking it, allowing Minerva to pull her up into her arms with ease.

Minerva wrapped a firm hand around her waist, while maintaining hold of her hand. She danced them in a circle, making Hermione laugh harder. "I do believe you've lost your mind, Hermione Granger."

"Says the woman who is dancing without any music?"

Minerva smiled widely, "I find that dancing is _extremely_ conducive to finding the cure for spontaneous insanity."

"Is it now?" Hermione laughed.

"Yes," she replied firmly. "I suspect that your insanity may be caused by a serious lack of fresh Scottish air—so we must solve this immediately."

Hermione nodded pseudo-seriously, "Of course, Professor. What do you suggest?"

Minerva abruptly stopped their dance, kissing Hermione quickly and pulling her towards the door, tossing Hermione's heavier cloak towards her as they moved. "We are going to have an adventure?"

Hermione groaned jokingly, "Haven't we had _enough_ adventures recently?"

"Certainly not! Are we Gryffindors or aren't we?" She pulled Hermione quickly towards the kitchen, and out the back door, making the smaller woman squeal in surprise. Minerva spun her delicately as they stepped into the wind, kissing her firmly on the lips. "You don't mind, do you?"

Hermione smiled widely, endlessly thrilled with Minerva's caring nature, "Not at all," she assured, following her gleefully across the field.

"This is my family's full estate. Most of my students and colleagues operate under the odd assumption that I own some marvelous mansion full of untold riches, but that couldn't be any farther from the truth. My family never had much money, my father was a Minister. So we owned this beautiful land, but not much else. Lucky for me—I never needed much else."

Hermione's eyes widened as she stared into the wide expanse of land. She had seen the estate briefly when their portkey had landed, but Minerva had needed her full attention at the time, so she hadn't really taken a moment. Since that time they hadn't really ventured outside of the house, happy to spend their time _recuperating_.

Flowing hills surrounded them, and a great field spread out from the house. Far in the distance Hermione could just barely see the flashing waves of the ocean, and she marveled at the natural beauty. It was obvious that at one point this land had been farmed, but it had long since gone wild, and Hermione thought it looked beautifully real. A small barn stood several yards away, and Hermione quickly realized that this was their destination and followed eagerly.

"I sometimes spend summers here, though it is rare these days. But I do know a wonderful man in town who cares for my lovely friends within the barn," Minerva explained as they approached. With some effort Minerva pulled the door open revealing a large barn, housing only two horses. "I've meant to do the research for years, as I'm not quite sure how they are still alive and looking as young as ever."

She moved first to a shining black Frisian. The horse's eyes showed wisdom beyond her apparent youth and she greeted Minerva warmly, nuzzling against her head and causing the woman to laugh, "This lovely darling is Arabesque. My mother brought her home when I was eight years old, and she has been in the family ever since. She's always been mine more than anyone else's, though she treats Malcolm like her own foal."

"She's beautiful," Hermione said dazedly. She had grown up in an extremely suburban area, and hadn't actually ever seen a horse in real life, staring into the friendly eyes of the Arabesque she found herself finally understanding the childhood obsession most girls' she had known had with horses. They really were beautiful.

Minerva moved towards the second stall, calling a much smaller horse forward, "This is Elsie—name by my brother Robert, because he thought she looked like a cow, and had determined that was _'a cow name'_," she laughed fondly, "I never did quite understand that."

"She's much shyer," Hermione noted, smiling at the cautious creature.

"She really was Robert's baby, he found her abandoned when she was just a filly and nursed her to health," Minerva said quietly, "He loved her more than anyone else in the world, and the feeling was more the reciprocated. She's never quite gotten over the fact that he stopped coming home. She's very sweet, and does loosen up at times. She torments Arabesque mercilessly, but she is very shy with people she doesn't know."

"Hello Gorgeous," Hermione said quietly, holding a hand out to the trepidatious creature. Elsie slowly approached her, eyes unsure. But eventually she allowed Hermione to scratch her lightly behind the ears.

Minerva gave a melancholy smile, "She rarely warms up to people so easily—you had better come back and visit her now."

Hermione smiled as she glanced into Minerva's eyes, "Well I certainly didn't plan on staying away," she promised.

Minerva transfigured her shoes into riding boots with a flick of her wand, and moved into Arabesque's stall. "Unfortunately, there isn't any way that Elsie would let you ride her yet—so we'll just be taking Ara out."

"Ri-ride?" Hermione blanched, "I don't—I mean, I _can't_."

Minerva laughed slightly, "What, did you think I brought you out here to paint a picture? I told you, we're going to have an adventure!"

Hermione shook her head fiercely, hair flying around her in a stressed mass, "I can't ride a horse, I've only just _met_ a horse. And they move—and have their own minds. I'll break something!"

Minerva laughed loudly this time, forgetting just how unaccustomed Hermione was to this life, "It's no worse than a broom," she promised.

Hermione looked at her skeptically, "Is that your way of convincing me?"

"No," Minerva said mischievously as she mounted the horse easily. She held out a simple hand to Hermione, "This is how I convince you… Grab my hand."

Hermione blinked at her owlishly, petrified beyond belief but knowing that there was only one right answer to that request. She knew that Minerva was purposely using the exact same line she did months ago when she convinced Hermione to fly—and she knew that Hermione treasured that memory far too much to ever say no. She sighed lightly and took Minerva's soft hand, placing a foot in the stirrup. Just as she had months ago Minerva pulled her up without difficultly, showing her unexpected strength. "That was a dirty trick you know," Hermione whispered.

"I'm glad you took my hand," she smiled, turning to kiss Hermione lightly.

"I'll always take your hand," Hermione said seriously. "Always."

Minerva gently led them from the barn, squeezing Hermione's hand lightly as she quivered, "Trust me darling, I won't let you fall."

Hermione nodded lightly, trying to control the shaking in her teeth. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, focusing on how steady she felt; she wasn't going to fall, and Minerva wouldn't let her. Besides—she wasn't that far up, and they weren't moving all that quickly. This wasn't like a broom.

Opening her eyes again she was surprised to see they had entered the field, "Can I let her run a bit?" Minerva asked carefully and Hermione agreed. As their speed picked up Hermione found herself sucking in a fast breath. She was still terrified, but she couldn't deny this felt amazing. She found that the beating hoofs against the solid ground reminded her of just how grounded she really was, and held her fears at bay, while the wind in her hair and the speed made her feel like she was flying.

She tightened her hold on Minerva, not out of fear, but out of a desire to be closer to the wondrous woman in front of her. "This is amazing," she whispered, causing the Minerva to blush.

"Just you wait," she replied, before redirecting Arabesque towards a trail leading up one of the hills. Arabesque sped happily along, clearly thrilled to get a chance to really explore again, as it has obviously been some time since she ventured beyond the enclosed field.

As they moved up the trail Minerva pointed out various memorable points. The peak where she had first attempted one of her suicidal broom dives, and subsequently broken her leg. The tree which Malcolm used to climb into when he wanted to hide from his responsibilities and simply read a good book. The small pond where her mother had taken her swimming as a child. Hermione leaned her face gently against Minerva's shoulder—kissing it softly and enjoying every small memory—every lilting laugh.

After twenty minutes of riding they reached another wide expanse of field, surrounded by a thick wooden fence. Minerva slowed Arabesque, before stopping entirely. She dismounted gracefully and Hermione stumbled after her, causing her entire face to heat up and Minerva to laugh, "I don't mind your occasional clumsiness," she smiled, "It just gives me the opportunity to hold you all the closer."

Hermione's eyes twinkled delightfully as she whispered, "You seem full of lines today—one would think you were trying to woo me."

"Always," Minerva said seriously, taking hold of Hermione's hand and pulling her towards the edge of the field. Hermione gasped as they drew closer, finally dragging her eyes away from Minerva. They were atop one of the smaller hills which surrounded Minerva's family home and could easily see for miles in every direction.

"Wow," Hermione breathed, leaning against the fencepost. "Where are we?"

Minerva thought for a moment, and then pointed to the north, "Hogwarts is _that_ way."

Hermione laughed happily, "Well that is extremely helpful."

"I thought so."

As Hermione stared, overwhelmed at the landscape surrounding her, she felt Minerva gently wrapping her arms around her from behind—pulling her close and placing a gentle kiss below her ear. "Still my favorite spot," she whispered tenderly, causing Hermione to blush. "And a guaranteed blush zone. I like knowing that."

Hermione turned around, careful not to break contact with the taller woman. Glancing up and into her eyes she asked quietly, "Is this area well populated? You never told me."

"There's a small village about twenty minutes from here—but no one ever comes to this area."

Hermione allowed her hands to travel from around Minerva's neck down her back, gently pushing the heavy cloak from her shoulders and appreciating the abnormally warm weather. "So we're completely alone," she whispered, running a finger across the slim band of skin which appeared between her sweater and her jeans.

Minerva shivered, "Completely," she responded, pulling Hermione into a slow kiss.

Hermione smiled against her lips, and discarded her own cloak to the ground near them before pulling Minerva flush against her, her knee strategically placed against Minerva's pulsating center. Hermione groaned, realizing that she could feel her through their clothes, and that perhaps Minerva had planned this all along.

She found that she didn't mind that idea at all and consequently pulled Minerva's shirt off in a quick movement. Beneath the modest scarlet sweater was a bra of deep sapphire, and Hermione found herself stepping back to admire the witch before her. Her long auburn hair was tied back in a soft braid, tousled from the fierce wind and riding. Seeing her black riding boots paired with the jeans she had been wearing all day and the recently discovered undergarments, Hermione found herself helpless to the sultry glance Minerva sent her way.

She moved quickly, backing Minerva up against the fencepost and kissing her fiercely, her hands swiftly freeing the braid as she ran her hands through the impressive mane. Minerva pushed herself onto the fence, pulling Hermione between her legs as she disposed of the hoodie she had been sporting throughout the day. Groaning in frustration as she discovered Hermione's logical layers, she finally pulled out her wand, banishing the clothing to a pile with their cloaks.

Hermione grinned as she looked down at her now naked body, "Well that doesn't seem fair," she laughed.

"I thought we had already confirmed the fact that I'm a terrible rotten cheater," Minerva smirked, pulling Hermione back towards her and marveling at the feel of Hermione's smooth skin against her own.

Minerva had to bend to kiss Hermione from her place on the fence, but suddenly found herself not minding that so much as the petite woman's breasts brushed against her jeans. Hermione moaned upon making contact with the rough fabric, her lips and tongue painting a delicate picture over Minerva's covered chest.

Hermione bit gently from over the silk fabric, causing Minerva to cry out. "Where did you learn that?" she gasped, and Hermione chuckled, sending vibrations scattering across her.

"I find I learn very quickly," she smirked, flicking a tongue over her lovers covered nipple, "from experimentation."

Minerva groaned, "Tortuous woman."

Hermione finally removed the troublesome article of clothing, allowing her tongue to toy with each exposed nipple, her hands holding Minerva's hips firmly in place and stopping her from falling.

Hermione grinned mischievously at the flushed woman who was coming undone for her, without warning moved a hand down and ran it across the seam of the writhing woman's jeans. "Fuck!" Minerva gasped uncharacteristically.

"Swearing—so inappropriate, Professor," she chuckled.

"Not my fault," Minerva gasped, "Misbehaving, teasing, student."

Hermione laughed, "Well I don't want to lose points…" she said flirtatiously banishing the rest of Minerva's clothing without warning.

Minerva had the fleeting thought that she was going to end up with splinters before Hermione's fingers found themselves suddenly buried inside of her and all thought ceased to exist.

Hermione's tongue began its ministrations again, swirling delicately around one of her nipples as she sucked gently and ran a hand through Minerva's hair. She continued to thrust passionately into Minerva as she overwhelmed her completely, causing the witch to cry out her appreciation. Hermione found herself once again appreciating her talent for multitasking as she felt Minerva tighten around her fingers and her breaths became shallow.

With three small circles from her thumb, Minerva shouted her release. She gasped desperately for air as she came down from the powerful orgasm, her eyes shut and her skin tingling pleasantly.

"You," she breathed, "are _incredibly_ good at that."

Hermione grinned, "I have had a brilliant teacher, and private tutoring all week," she whispered, kissing Minerva's shoulder gently as she returned her hands to Minerva's hips.

Minerva grinned, "She deserves some sort of award."

Hermione pretended to ponder for a moment, "I don't know, she's still a horrible nasty scrabble cheater."

Minerva pouted, opening her eyes and appreciating the young witch as she carefully gathered her wand and clothing. Minerva moved to do the same, before discovering that she was entirely incapable of moving from her place on the fence. She coughed lightly, drawing Hermione's attention. Waving towards the fence post she asked, "Forget something dear?"

Hermione laughed, "Sorry Min, I cast a quick charm to keep you from falling, and a cushioning charm. I just forgot to remove them." She studied the naked woman carefully, eyes appreciating her every curve, "Though there are certain advantages to leaving you there…"

"Hermione," Minerva said warningly, a semi-glare forming on her face. Hermione rolled her eyes lightly and flicked her wand, releasing the incantations.

"Fine, ruin my fun," she laughed, bending to pick up her underwear and watching as it quickly darted from her grasp. Raising an eyebrow she turned around slowly, eying Minerva as she stood proudly twirling the light fabric around her.

"Perhaps I can make it up to you," she said, a predatory gleam in her eye as she stalked her prey.

Hermione suddenly felt herself blushing at Minerva's gaze, "Oh?" she squeaked, unsure of where her sudden bashfulness had come from.

Minerva pounced quickly, wrapping a firm arm tightly around Hermione's waist and pulling her close, "I think I can definitely do _something_ to make amends," she whispered as she pulled the trembling brunette into a searing kiss.

* * *

The following morning Minerva woke to the persistent tapping of an owl at her window. She sighed, regretfully untangling herself from the lovely woman who enveloped her, and approaching the window. Hermione muttered unintelligibly from the bed, and Minerva smiled at her morning antics, loving the woman all the more for it.

She opened the window and gently stroked the bird who was waiting for her. "I'm sorry, dearest. I don't have any treats for you. Next time?"

The owl gave a small hoot of understanding before holding out its leg, she carefully untied the scroll and thanked the owl as it fluttered back out the window.

Unfurling the letter she quirked an eyebrow at the outrageous orange script, but smiled upon reading the greeting.

_Dearest M&M!_

_Here's hoping this letter finds you in the greatest of health and entirely healed from the lack of hospitality at the Ministry. We're confident that Nurse Granger will have you in wonderful health by this point. (What we wouldn't pay to pop into a pensive of _that _memory!)_

_All joking aside, we are hoping that you may be able to meet with us before you return to take the train on Sunday. We have something to discuss with you of a sensitive nature. If you are amenable, please join us at our shop in Diagon Alley at ten o'clock sharp. If you are _not_ amenable, please join us at our shop in Diagon Alley at ten o'clock sharp anyways._

_It would probably be best if you came without our favorite bushy-headed brain. We love her, but this meeting is best as a threesome._

_All our Love!  
Gred & Forge_

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading! If you're curious about the images which have been puttering around my head, I'm going to be posting pictures of the horses on my Twitter, and yesterday I posted a picture which almost exactly depicts what I've been imagining as Minerva's land.** ( LadyChristineM)

**Also, that horse scene is dedicated to CherriiMarina, who seemed excited at the idea of "Equine Adventures". I don't actually know anything about horses, or riding, or farms, or anything that isn't in the middle of a city. So blame google if I got it all wrong. :-)**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Happy Saturday All! I'm so sorry that it has taken me a while to update (comparitively, at least). I've been working 12 hour days all week-exhausted! This is just a short snippet, but I'm hoping you enjoy it and it ties you over until I get the next chapter out. That will be substantially sooner if I have any say! So without further ado, Fred & George!**

* * *

Minerva sat on the edge of the counter, swinging her legs idly as she hummed under her breath. She had arrived promptly at ten—along with a dozen customers trying to make last minute purchases before returning to Hogwarts. That was all immediately following the screech of their only sales girl going into early labor.

It was now 11:30 and needless to say, Minerva was left waiting.

She found herself increasingly amused by the horde of students and their effect on Fred & George. At one point, she saw Fred shaking his head as he pulled a product down from the top shelf, muttering to himself about _'this generation'_ and how they _'lacked creativity'_. Minerva chuckled at that, seeing as how Fred and George banked on their customer's lack of creativity.

At this point there was only one boy left in the shop—it seemed that the second year had managed to escape his mother just long enough to sneak into the shop, and demand 10 Skiving Snackboxes.

"No!" George shouted over his shoulder, approaching Minerva at the counter. "I'm not selling you 10 Snackboxes in one go, kid. We sell days off—extra breaks from double potions—not failed classes."

"I won't use them all!" the freckled boy whined.

"Absolutely not. Three boxes is the max."

The student swore under his breath before tossing the money on the counter and stalking out of the store. "I never thought I would see the day that George Weasely was lecturing someone about being a responsible student."

He shrugged slightly, "Even we have standards. Sure, we skipped a decent number of classes, but we never missed an exam, and our homework was always on time. We just preferred to do most of our studying outside of class—and on a more specialized subject matter."

"I can't argue with your results," Minerva admitted, fingering one of the boxes of Canary Creams beside her. "Some of this merchandise demonstrates a potions and charms level which is _far_ beyond what most Hogwarts Graduates could obtain. I dare say you both could have earned Masteries in the subjects."

At that moment, Fred hopped up on the counter next to Minerva, "Did I just hear the _great_ Minerva McGonagall admit that two Hogwarts dropouts could earn double masteries?"

"Which is exceptionally rare for even the best students to accomplish," George added in.

"I mean, even Hermione's only hoping to accomplish three," Fred continued.

"And she's _Hermione_. Brightest witch of the age!"

"Bookworm Extraordinaire!"

"Madame Bibliophile!"

Minerva laughed loudly, "I admit it!" She shouted, interrupting their banter. "But you are the exception!"

"Of course we are," George agreed.

"Certainly," said Fred.

"That's why we don't sell more than three boxes of Skiving Snackboxes at a time."

"Snarky bastards couldn't handle it."

"They'd end up working for Filch!" Fred said finally, causing Minerva to double over in a fit of laughter.

"I should have you two visit as inspirational speakers, I can see it now: '_We managed to drop out and become the most successful business in Diagon Alley—but you're not as good as us… or as good looking. So stay in school, otherwise you'll all be forced to work for Filch!'_ It would be wonderfully inspiring."

"Did you hear that Gred? She said we're inspiring!"

"And _good looking_, Forge!"

"I did no such thing!" Minerva snickered, "I said that _you_ would say that you're good looking."

"Technicality!" the cheered together, causing Minerva to roll her eyes.

"So what did you want from me? I can't imagine you called me here _just_ to torment me."

Fred and George looked at each other, a nervous frown forming on each of their faces in perfect synchronicity. After a moment, Fred took a breath, "So we have some news—but we don't know how you'll take it."

"And it's entirely up to you how to proceed from here," George added.

"Right," Fred nodded, "and we aren't going to tell _anyone_ outside of this room what's going on. No pressure, okay?"

Minerva's heart sunk, a sneaking suspicion as to what was going on seeping through her, "Alright," she whispered.

George sat down on her other side, taking her hand, "Min, we found a cure."

"For the potion," Fred said unnecessarily, "We found the antidote."

Minerva's eyes opened wide, as she stared aimlessly across the empty shop.

George coughed nervously, "We were actually inspired by muggle medical technology. They have time release capsules; they cause the medication to stay in your system longer. We thought it was a brilliant idea, so we made a potion which works in the same manner—it was tricky, but it should work. It would take just over a week, but you would age about five years per day. That way you won't have any internal damage and your body will have a chance to settle overnight before the next batch of years is added."

"We combined an aging potion with four different healing potions, an antidepressant, and a calming drought. The last two should prevent you from going into shock and help with the emotional changes. It was tricky, finding potions whose ingredients wouldn't nullify each other. One of the healing potions is actually our own invention." Fred explained quietly, knowing that Minerva would want all of the details before making a decision. After a moment he said her name quietly, drawing her attention back to them.

She shook her head slightly, pulling herself back from her shocked haze. "I'm sorry," she breathed, "I'm just a bit overwhelmed."

Sure, Minerva hadn't really doubted that the twins would continue to experiment on the potion. She even thought it was likely that they would find an antidote eventually. But she always thought that would be years from now. She thought that she would have had more time to consider what she really wanted—frankly, she thought she would have had time to decide if this relationship with Hermione could truly _be_ something.

Certainly if Severus and Albus had given up hope on an antidote, it couldn't be that simple? But it was. Completely.

There was a cure, and she could go back to her old age—having only been transformed for seven months. She could return to her old life without too much difficulty. A week of healing. A few months of awkwardness with her students. Then it would all be fine, and she would be herself again. She would be formidable, and legendary, and _her. _Minerva wrapped her arms tightly around her body, trying to remember what it had felt like before all of this.

It had _only_ been seven months; surely she could remember how life had felt before the transformation?

But she couldn't. She couldn't find the aches in her bone, or the unyielding confidence. She couldn't hear her voice anymore, or remember the tightness of her hair pulled stiffly against her scalp.

"Minerva," George was whispering again, causing her to glance back towards him, her eyes wide and unsure. Looking into his eyes she felt her heart speed up and her breath quicken. Suddenly her chest was on fire and the room was spinning. She didn't even feel the panicked tears as they began to fall, but George didn't seem to doubt himself as he pulled his former Professor into his arms, holding her closely against him.

"Just breathe," Fred said quietly from behind her, his hand rubbing comforting circles on her back as she sobbed heavily. "It'll be okay."

Minerva shook her head shakily against George's shoulder, "It won't—It's won't."

"It will," George whispered.

"No, it can't—I don't know how to make it all alright again. I have to go back, I have to. You can't just start life over again, that isn't how life works!"

"Minerva," Fred tried to interrupt, but she was suddenly standing and pacing the small space in front of them, her arms waving wildly around her, and George tried not to cringe as her unkempt magic caused a display to fly off of its shelves without her notice.

"But I can't be with her if I'm 65 and her professor! I can't! It would ruin her life and her reputation, and I can't do that to her!" Minerva said, gasping for air as she ran a panicked hand through her hair. "It would be completely inappropriate—not to mention how _different _I am now! She probably wouldn't even love me as that person—she loves Mary! She loves Min! She doesn't love Professor Minerva McGonagall, Order of Merlin-1st class!" Minerva spat distastefully.

"Min," the twins called together, causing her to stop her tirade, stopping in front of them quickly.

"It's going to be okay," Fred said quickly.

"Take a breath," George advised. Minerva took a deep breath, exhaling it shakily. "First of all, Hermione loves you. Hermione loves you now, and she would love you if you went back to being 65."

"Personally, I think she already loved you when you were 65—not that she realized it," Fred admitted, causing George to nod.

"She talked about you almost constantly on Holidays, and read her Transfiguration texts more than anything else," George explained.

"And she would gush about your articles in Transfiguration today."

"Plus, there was the Yule Ball," George laughed, "She stared at you the entire time you were dancing with Dumbledore. Entranced she was—it rather irked Krum, actually."

Minerva shook her head, "It isn't possible."

Fred shook his head, "You're blind, M&M. That woman loves you, and she will love you no matter what you choose."

"And really, Min, either choice is alright. You didn't do this on _purpose_. If you want, take it as fate! You were meant to get a second chance—live a less lonely life, a life that you can actually enjoy, instead of fighting through."

Minerva hiccoughed slightly as more tears slid down her cheeks, "When did you two become so _bloody_ wise?"

"When did you start listening?" Fred pointed out.

Minerva nodded sadly, "I don't know how to make a decision like this. I've made so many hard choices—but this, this is different. This is impossible."

"Not to be horribly cliché," George said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "But why don't you try listening to your heart for a change?"

Minerva shook her head fiercely, "My _heart_ is run by the emotions and hormones of an eighteen year old girl—not logic or morals or _anything _useful."

"Who's to say that those emotions must be wrong?" Fred said gently.

Minerva snorted cynically, "Every love song ever."

George laughed lightly, "Well those love songs are rubbish, and have obviously never met the brilliant Minerva McGonagall and Hermione Granger. You aren't the majority M&M, you're the exception. Your emotions aren't leading you wrong here—you just need to decide what you really want."

Minerva nodded weakly, sighing as she glanced towards the clock which hung on the far side of the shop. "I have to go soon; otherwise I'll miss the train."

"Couldn't you just apparate?" George asked.

Minerva smiled sadly, "I promised Hermione I would meet her."

"Are you going to tell her?" Fred asked carefully.

Minerva just shook her head, "I don't know yet—probably. I can't keep it from her, can I?" Minerva cast a quick charm to wash away the salty residue of her tears, and take away the swelling around her eyes. "How do I look?"

"Ravishing, as always," George promised.

"Simply delightful!" Fred agreed.

Minerva nodded primly before pulling her cloak back on and making her way towards the door. Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob she turned quickly, "Fred—George?" she called out, causing the two to turn back towards her. "If I did go back to my old life—would this have to change? Us?"

Both grinned widely before chorusing together, "Just try and scare us away, McG."

* * *

**I know, I know. It's so short! But there will be more soon!**

**While I have you here though, allow me a brief moment to promote something. I have been working closely with the author CherriiMarina on her website, and if any of you are interested, I think you should check it out. It's a fanfiction prompt site. You can post ideas you have, or find ideas for your own stories. Both of us have already posted several ideas, but we're looking for more, and looking for interested authors as well. We seem to specialize in the rarer fanfiction parings (Minerva/Hermione being a personal favorite of both of ours) so if you like that, check it out!**

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**Obviously, remove the spaces. Shameless promotion over. (Unless you want to check out my Twitterfeed! LadyChristineM)**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: *Hides behind couch* Please don't hate me.**

* * *

Hermione chewed her lip nervously.

Minerva studied a strand of her hair.

A suffocating silence filled the room.

It had been ten minutes since they paced the floor, asking for a place to talk—10 minutes since the modest sitting room made an appearance. A couch, two chairs, and a small fireplace—It was simple, small, and held no distractions from their obvious discomfort. After sitting down on the plush couch, neither woman had spoken.

For Hermione, she simply didn't know what was meant to be said. Upon meeting at the train station, she had asked Minerva what her meeting had been about and Minerva had simply told her that they would speak later. It was now later. They were at the school. They had eaten dinner. Minerva had dragged her up to the room of requirement—and yet no words had been said.

As the minutes ticked past she grew more and more concerned by the struggling expression on Minerva's face, and found fewer and fewer ways to inspire conversation. So instead she just sat, nervously waiting for Minerva to tell her exactly what was going on.

Minerva, on the other hand, knew _exactly_ what was meant to be said, and what _needed_ to be said. That didn't make it any easier to formulate the words though. It had been hours since she left Fred and George, and in that time only one decision had been clear. She had to tell Hermione.

It would be wrong to make this sort of decision without discussing it with the woman she loved. Hermione would likely never forgive her. The question was how to explain—and what Hermione's reaction would be. She had spent hours on the train trying to find the words, but so far, none had come.

Now they were situated in a small room, and Hermione's eyes were boring into her own. Minerva sighed heavily, "Hermione, I don't know what to say," she finally sputtered out, her eyes closed tightly as she set her face in her hands.

Hermione wrapped her arms protectively around herself as she whispered, "Why don't you just tell me what's going on, rather than struggling to find the _right_ words."

Minerva nodded and folded her legs under herself, "I went to see Fred and George today—they asked me to meet with them."

Hermione's head quirked to the side, and Minerva spared a moment to appreciate the adorableness of the gesture. "Why didn't you tell me that they were the ones who wanted to meet with you? I was worried, Min."

Minerva nodded again, "I know—I'm sorry. I just—I had an idea as to what may be going on—or at least what I was worried may be going on—and so I didn't want to mention it to you."

"Why?"

Minerva took a deep breath, glancing up at the ceiling as she whispered, "They—they've found a cure."

Hermione's mouth dropped ever so slightly, but she quickly schooled a careful expression on her face. She took a deep breath, and nodded slightly, "I suppose that was inevitable—despite what Dumbledore and Snape thought. Once the twins put their minds to something, it's going to happen eventually. Though I had thought it would take longer."

"Me too," Minerva said, suddenly feeling very small.

"So how long?"

"What?"

"The procedure, how long will it take for you to return to your old life?"

"Well, I hadn't actually decided I was going to do it," Minerva said slowly, a small frown on her face.

Hermione's expression was unreadable, but she shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous Minerva—you've wanted that for months. You'll be yourself again, you'll fit."

Minerva sat quietly, shock chilling her veins. "And us? I can't imagine dating your professor is much of an option."

Hermione's hand shook slightly, unnoticed by Minerva. "N-No," she said, stifling the stutter immediately, "But you wouldn't want to ruin your life because of some silly teenage love affair, there's no promise that this will last, and then where would you be? You-you should be happy. And being your sixty-five year old self again would make you happy."

"Silly teenage love affair," Minerva muttered incoherently, "Right. You're right, of course. When aren't you?" Minerva stood up suddenly, running a hand through her hair roughly. "Well then, I—I should be off. Things to—take care of. Yes." She nodded quickly, and turned roughly to the door.

"Bye, Min," Hermione said weakly behind her.

Minerva paused momentarily at the door, her hand trembling on the knob. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again, shaking her head. She turned the knob and left without a final glance.

* * *

Minerva stormed through the doors of Weasely Wizard Wheezes, causing the products to tremble on their shelves and the air to spark with angry energy. "Fred!" she snapped, "George!"

The identical red-heads suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, both having obviously been about to retire to their flat. "Minerva?" George said confusedly, "What are you doing here?"

A window shattered behind the flushed witch, welcoming in the glow of a nearby flickering streetlamp. The light illuminated the tousled woman, eyes dark with unrestrained emotion, hair tangled hopelessly around her limbs. She flicked her wand stiffly, mending the window and dousing the light. "I'm ready for that potion."

"What?" Fred asked in surprise.

"Now?" George added.

Minerva pursed her lips, "Yes, now. I think I've spent more than enough time in this ridiculous form," she bit out, "Please fetch me that potion."

Fred and George shared a nervous glance, and Fred shook his head lightly as he said, "No, Min."

Her eyes flashed dangerously, "Pardon me?"

George shook his head, "We're not giving it to you, M&M. Not like this."

Minerva rolled her eyes, "How did you _expect _I would be? Skipping through your doors, delight oozing from my every pore?"

"Preferably you wouldn't be shattering windows with a glance," Fred deadpanned.

"Your mood seems to have changed since this morning," George pointed out.

"Yes well, I've been forced to do some rather serious thinking, haven't I?" She snapped, "I've made my decision and I would thank you to respect that."

"No," they said together, the usual humor lacking in their shared tone.

"If you can convince us," Fred said carefully.

"Then we'll give you the potion," George finished.

"But we're not going to let you make this decision lightly."

Minerva screamed with rage, causing an entire display of love potions to shatter at her feet. "How dare you!" She thundered, furious tears gathering in her eyes, "You offer me the damnable opportunity, you give me hope for a happier life, and now you won't let me take the bloody potion?"

Another display caught fire behind her, causing the twins' eyes to widen. "Minerva," Fred whispered, "What the hell happened today?"

Minerva extinguished the small fire behind her as she paced the room. "What's happened is that you're _wrong._ You thought she loved me? You thought she would love me young, old, and anywhere in between?" Minerva paused for a breath, turning away from the twins. "She doesn't. She told me to go back to being 65. She told me that this was just a _silly teenage love affair_ and she told me it wouldn't last. And to think, I was prepared to tell her that I was going to stay—well to hell with it. It was easier being the heartless old hag of a professor."

"M, she loves you," Fred insisted.

"No."

"She took on the Ministry for you!" George argued.

"No."

"And the way she looks at you," Fred tried, but Minerva shot a hand out, silencing them both wordlessly.

"No." She said again, her voice shaking. "It doesn't matter what happened, or what she did. She had fun, I don't doubt that. She wanted to do the right thing, I don't doubt that either. But she obviously doesn't share the same depth of feeling that I have. Which is her prerogative—I'm just appreciative that she was honest with me now, rather than dragging it out."

"Minerva," they tried again, but she shook her head.

"I'm going back to my home. I'll be back for the potion in the morning. Please be the friends you have claimed to be, and respect this decision," Minerva slumped with the declaration, the emotion suddenly banished from her voice and her eyes, instead hopelessness seemed to take up residence as she numbly flicked her wand and repaired the damaged merchandise.

* * *

Harry watched as Hermione entered the room, her eyes lost and emotionless. "Hermione?" he asked, voice filled with concern and curiosity.

As the name left his lips her knees crashed to burgundy carpet of the common room, an impact which would undoubtedly leave dark bruises on her pale skin. The noise which echoed from her lungs as she fell could only be described as that of a shattered being, cornered in the darkest recesses of their mind.

He watched as her magic seemed to leave her, pooling on the floor at her feet, it's essence as tangible as the tears which flowed from her eyes, leaving damp trails across her skin. Her eyes darkened and dimmed, and her hair fell limp and straight upon her shoulders. All the while, her complexion turned _more_ grey and _more_ pale, as if she was crumbling into ash.

He watched as his best friend died, from the inside out.

Moving quickly, he gathered her in his arms, carrying her up the stairs to her room and away from the prying eyes of their housemates. He knew that when she recovered—_if _she recovered—she wouldn't want all of them to have seen her in this state. Laying her gently on her bed he watched as she curled into herself, a deathly sound freeing itself from her soul as she cried helplessly.

"Hermione," he said again, carefully and softly. "What's the matter—tell me what happened?"

"She's gone," she rasped, her voice crackling painfully as more tears gathered in her eyes. "She may as well be dead for me."

Harry sat thickly on the bed beside his friend, "Minerva?"

Hermione just shook her head, not quite answering, and Harry started to panic. Who else could Hermione be talking about? "_Minerva _is back," she whispered bitterly, her voice nearly inaudible. "The Minerva she always wanted to be, at least. Min is dead—Mary is dead. The woman I love is dead."

His eyes widened as the story began to come together. Minerva had been healed?

"Hermione, it can't be as terrible as all that. She loves you."

Hermione just shook her head, sobbing into her pillow. "No, eighteen year old—hormonal Minerva loved me. But I'm never going to see her again."

"Hermione, you see her every day!"

Hermione sat up quickly, her eyes angry and feral, "No! I'll see Professor McGonagall every day! She _doesn't_ love me. She and I—we both agreed. We can't be together if she's like this—she said it herself. _Dating my professor isn't an option_. It wouldn't work, our lives are too different and I—I love her. I love her fifty years ago—I love her today, but she won't even be able to look at me the same way—she's not even going to be attracted to me in this body."

Harry shook his head disbelievingly, "Hermione, she loves you more than anything. You can see it plainly, there is no way that she would just—"

"Harry, stop!" Hermione screamed suddenly, "We ended it, alright! She chose to be 65 years old again—which I knew she would! As long as she wasn't worrying to much about my feelings. The moment I gave her the option, she took it. She chose to leave me behind. It's _over_."

With her outburst complete Hermione crumbled back on to the bed, sobs wracking her body, as Harry stared on in complete shock.

He didn't know what had happened, he didn't understand. Despite everything that Hermione was saying, he _knew_ that Minerva loved her. And he knew how much Hermione loved Minerva. Minerva unceremoniously ending things and choosing to return to her old life—it just didn't make sense.

Harry could only hope that after Hermione had calmed down he would be able to get more information, but until that time, he just had to find a way to keep her head above water.

"Okay, Hermione." he whispered before lying down beside her in the bed. He gently wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to cling to him desperately as she cried. He had no words of comfort, all he could do was quietly hold her, and hope that things worked themselves out soon.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_It seems we have a mutual problem which needs sorting out, specifically two stubborn witches. We're not sure what's going on, but don't doubt that together we can all sort it out. _

_If you're available, meet us in the Shrieking Shack at eight o'clock. As Minerva is bent on taking her potion at eleven, the earlier we meet the better._

_Cheers,  
F&G _

Harry blinked sleepily at the letter in his hand, it was nearly 7:30 and he had spent the entire night holding a sobbing Hermione. She had finally fallen into a fitful sleep an hour ago, and he was nervous to leave her, but he didn't see any other options. He needed to know what was going on, and if the twins thought that this could be fixed, they had to try.

Hermione and Minerva were both stubborn, but they were also soul mates. As someone who had lost more than his fair share of loved ones, Harry didn't generally like to use those words. It felt far too final. As if you could never find happiness again should you lose that one person—that was a terrifying thought for him. And yet Hermione and Minerva seemed to epitomize that term.

Apart they were fierce, determined, and intelligent. They were entirely self-sufficient and capable—but they were also closed away from the rest of the world. They had both kept themselves hidden and safe for quite some time, but when they met that had all been forgotten. Harry could clearly remember the look in Hermione's eyes on that first day. It was as if the sun was suddenly shining in her world. She had found the missing page from her book.

He had always worried that Hermione would have trouble finding the kind of love she deserved. He worried that she was _too_ clever for most people—that they wouldn't be able to keep up and she would always be bored. Minerva seemed to have had the same problem in her life. But when the two witches met, and under the right circumstances, there was no way they could deny the reality. They found their place in this world together.

And he wasn't going to let either of them throw that away because of silly insecurities or selflessness.

* * *

"Why did we decide to meet him here again?" George asked with a groan as he shoved at the old door.

Fred kicked at it unhelpfully before pulling out his wand, "Because Harry's less likely to get in trouble, and less likely to get caught." He flicked the wand and sent the door flying open—a thick cloud of dust engulfing them.

Both men coughed as they stepped through the door, glancing around them. "Merlin, this is way worse than I remember it," George wheezed.

"True," Fred snickered, "But we remember it from before a giant snake tried to kill someone in this room…"

"No excuse to let the dust gather," George clucked, in a perfect impersonation of his mother, causing Fred to laugh loudly.

"Glad you two are having such a lovely morning," Harry grumbled from behind them. The twins raised their eyebrows at his disheveled appearance, and he rolled his eyes. "I spent the night with Hermione and I only received your letter half an hour ago, give me a break."

Both twins immediately looked serious, "So she's upset too?" George asked.

Harry glared at them, "What do you mean, _so she's upset_? Of course she's upset!"

"Calm down," Fred interrupted, "We thought she would be, but we just wanted to clarify."

"We think that both women have told severely different stories," George explained.

"Hermione doesn't lie to me," Harry defended.

"We don't think she did, we just think they both thought different things were being said," Fred inserted quickly.

"Miscommunication," George added.

Harry sighed, "That sounds like them." He drew his wand and carefully conjured several of Dumbledore's signature chairs before sitting down. "So what has Minerva been saying?"

"That Hermione never loved her, told her it was just a _'silly teenage love affair'_, and that she should go back to being 65," Fred sighed.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Of all the ridiculous Gryffindor self-sacrificing _nonsense_," he muttered.

"We're still missing some pieces here," George pointed out.

"Would love to know what's going on," Fred added.

"Hermione told me that she gave Minerva the chance to run without hurting her, and she took it. Said that Minerva wanted to be herself again, and didn't want her as a student."

"So you're telling us, that Hermione pretended not to care," George started.

"So that Minerva would feel free to choose what she really wanted?" Fred finished.

"Yes—because she's an absolute idiot," Harry grumbled, causing both twins to smirk.

"Min was planning on staying that age, that's what she wanted, until Hermione shredded her heart by trying to be idiotically selfless," George explained.

"And if she had to be older again, she was hoping Hermione could still love her."

"Idiotic women—who would have thought they would ever be the example for a failure in communication," Harry complained.

"Well unfortunately, it's now up to us to fix this stupidity," George grinned. "So who has a plan?"

* * *

**Thank you for reading, and for the wonderful reviews! They really do keep me going! More to come!**


	22. Chapter 22 - Epilogue

"For the second year in a row, the Harpies take the championship!" the Announcer's deep voice roared across the pitch, causing thousands of English spectators to scream in elation. Drinks were thrown in the air, lovers were kissed, and ladies were twirled.

The Harpies had always been one of the top teams in the league, but they hadn't made it quite this far for many years—a fact which was largely attributed to the singular gender of the team. They had surprised the world when they became unbeatable the year before, and as the winning team took a victory lap around the pitch, no one could argue their immense skill.

The three chasers did a series of tricks, weaving together in a spontaneous dance as they swooped up to the press box. The particularly daring of the three leapt gracefully onto the edge of the building, her broom held firmly in hand. She grinned mischievously at her fans before taking a leaping dive from the press box, causing the crowd to scream in surprise, before she twirled several times and landed carefully on her broom, allowing it to dart back into the air.

The captain, in the meantime, was surfing on the wind currents, long dark braids whipping out behind her as she zoomed past the stands, high-fiving the fans and tousling the hair of several children.

Their seeker was a blur of green as she shot around the stadium, impressing the crowd with arrogant trick dives and spirals, the golden snitch still held tightly above her head. Her fiery mane flew free behind her as she darted towards the hoard of red-heads in the stands, high-fiving her jealous brothers and blowing a kiss towards her mum.

Close behind her sped a bullet of pale skin and dark auburn hair; the bold chaser laughing gleefully as she surprised her teammate, forcing her to roll out of the way. The seeker made a rude gesture as she laughed, and the chaser did another quick lap around the hoops before darting back toward the crowd.

Amongst them stood a small cheering brunette, her energized hair making her especially noticeable. The chaser flew straight for the small witch, her mouth forming words which it seemed only they could hear as she held her hand out to the panicked witch.

Shaking her head fiercely, the brunette closed her eyes and shot her hand up into the air, grabbing the chaser's hand firmly as she was pulled right out of her seat. The crowd gasped as the chaser pulled the woman onto her broom, shooting around the stadium one final time, kissing the witch lightly behind her ear and whispering something in the brunette's ear which made her loosen her grip and laugh prettily.

When the well-known brunette turned on the broom and kissed the world-champion chaser firmly on the lips, the noise which erupted from the crowd was deafening.

* * *

It was several hours before all of the women managed to calm down enough to shower and get their various wounds healed. When they finally left the locker room it was to a mass of paparazzi and fans, all desperately looking to get a picture or a quote from the team. After several minutes of trying to push through the mass Angelina found her patience waning and pulled out her wand. Amplifying her voice she shouted over the crowd, "Oy! There is a press conference with the entire team in ten minutes! If you'd prefer for us to just apparate to the private after-party, by all means keep blocking our way."

Several of the players laughed as the crowd parted for the women and they made their way to the conference room. All of the players moved behind a long table, taking their seats and taking a moment to exhale before the questions began.

Angelina Johnson had been recruited to the Harpies right after finishing at Hogwarts, and she been made Captain after only two years on the team. Surprisingly, no one had argued with the promotion. She was a brilliant player, but more than that, she knew how to lead and inspire. She also knew how to scare the pants off of the press.

She was the one who had insisted on the recruitment of Minerva and Ginny. She had seen Ginny play for years, and after only watching one game she knew that Minerva belonged on the team.

Ginny had agreed immediately, having always wanted to play for the Harpies. It was her dream come to life. But Minerva was less simple. She had only just settled on staying eighteen and courting Hermione Granger, and wasn't quite sure if it was a good idea to make more life changes. It was Hermione who had eventually convinced her.

She, along with Fred and George, had insisted that the ex-Professor deserved a chance at true happiness. Why should she just _repeat_ her old life—why not add a bit to it? Few things made Minerva happier than flying, and with Hermione busy working towards her masteries, Minerva really had no reason _not_ to take the chance.

Her hands had trembled violently the day that she signed her contract for the team, but after the first practice, she hadn't regretted it. She was a natural in the air, and fit surprisingly well with the group of young women. They weren't intimidated by the appearance of their former professor; instead they saw her for the new person she had become.

With the new additions to the team, and her promotion, they found themselves suddenly meshing together in a way they hadn't been able to before. They worked as a team, they became a family, and they were unbeatable on the pitch.

Angelina shivered slightly in her central position at the table, terrified by the fact that could all be about to change. She knew of Minerva's plans—and she was more than a small bit nervous, but she wouldn't allow her fear to damper the lives of her friends.

The press slowly filed into the front of the room, while quite a few fans managed to gain admittance in the back. Harry, Hermione, Neville, and the Weasleys all stood slightly to the side of the group sending silent support to their friends.

"Good Afternoon!" Angelina called to the crowd, "Thank you all for coming to talk with us, and thanks for giving us a moment to recuperate. We appreciate your patience."

A few members of the press screamed out questions, but Angelina raised a threatening eyebrow towards the crowd, something which never failed to make Minerva giggle. Angelina had easily admitted _exactly_ where she had learned that expression. It worked just as well for her as it ever had for Minerva. "Now, if we can all act quite politely, I will call on you individually," She said strictly. Her face broke into a smile then and she turned towards the cluster of Daily Prophet reporters first. "Ms. Lindinbush," she called.

A short brunette stepped forwards, her hair carefully set in several braids and pinned up, her blue eyes lit up behind her glasses and a grateful expression was directed in Minerva's direction. She was regularly offered the first question at their press conferences, and was continually appreciative. "Miss. Weasley, many have attributed the team's recent success to your recruitment—obviously the Seeker holds a very important place. What do you say to these comments and to the rumors that you are planning on retiring soon and pursuing a family?"

Ginny grinned as she flipped her hair, and the rest of the team couldn't suppress their smirks, "Well naturally I'm the _most_ important member of the team. They'd all be a floundering mess without me!" She laughed, causing several laughs from the audience as cameras flashed in her direction. For someone who had once been so shy, Ginny was the bell of the ball among the press. She always knew how to charm them, and never failed to seduce their readers with her mischievous eyes and innocent smile. "Honestly though, these women are absolute super heroes, and they don't need me one bit. But I'm thrilled that the fans are so appreciative of the work I put in. I just want to help the team as best I can, and I'm glad that today I was able to do that."

"As for retiring," She continued, "It seems like anytime a female quidditch player is in a committed relationship those rumors pop up. I am _not_ getting married yet, nor am I planning on having children. I may have found the wizard," she winked towards Neville, causing him to blush hotly and more cameras to flash, "But part of the reason I love him is because he understands that right now this is what I'm doing."

"And in the future?" Lisa prodded, making Ginny throw back her head in laughter.

"Well I _am_ a Weasley woman, aren't I?" The entire press laughed at that, and Angelina rolled her eyes as she scanned the crowd.

"Ms. Ruthlow, of Witch Broomstick?" she offered.

This time a tall dark skinned woman stepped forward, her eyes glowing with delight, "Miss Johnson, many quidditch fans were doubtful that a team comprised entirely of women could possibly win the cup, let alone win it twice—any comment to them?"

Angelina grinned fiercely, "Well—we just wiped the floor with Puddlemere, a team which is coincidentally comprised entirely of men at the moment—so I think I'll let our record speak for itself. We have only lost one game in the last two years—that game being the one where our former player, Katie Bell, went into early labor while the game was still being played. We chose to forfeit, rather than risk the safety of our friend and teammate."

She pointed towards a gentleman wearing a suit, whose badge said he was from Quidditch Today, "Puddlemere's captain, Oliver Wood, has worked with at least four of your players in the past—how does it feel to know that you've beaten your former Gryffindor Team Captain, and former student?"

Minerva was the one to answer this question, "Wood is a brilliant player and a brilliant captain—he always was. If I recall, he tried to recruit several of us as well. We have great respect for his team and his achievements, and could not have chosen a better opponent this year."

Luna was in the audience, representing the Quibbler, and Angelina didn't hesitate to call on her when she raised her dainty hand in the air, "Minerva, there have been whispers that you plan on retiring soon—any truth to that?"

Minerva smiled, thanking her friend for agreeing to ask that question. She let herself blush slightly as she smiled at the audience, "Unfortunately, there is." A collective gasp rose from the group—none having taken the rumors published in the Quibbler as meriting any attention.

Several reporters tried to shout out questions, but she held a hand in the air, giving a tight lipped glare to the disruptive parties. When the crowd silenced she lightly cleared her throat to continue, "The last four years have been absolutely wonderful—but as everyone here knows, I have always been a professor at heart. My vacation from that lifestyle has been glorious, but I find myself drawn back to my books, my students, and my lovely partner. As she has just received her _third_ mastery, she has agreed to take over the Potions position at Hogwarts, and I find that to be a perfect reason to bring me back to my home as the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts."

"Are you planning on marriage—children?" Rita Skeeter dared to ask from the back of the room, and she sent a glare in her direction.

"I don't believe that is _any_ of your business, Rita."

Hermione snorted lightly as Rita backed up a step. "We at the Harpies have already talked at length with Minerva about her decision, and we support her entirely in all of her endeavors," Angelina said clearly, leaving no room or rumors of team drama, "The team is definitely taking a hit by losing her, but in her four years she's helped us win two championships, and play in a third—we can't ask for much more than that."

* * *

It was several hours later that Hermione and Minerva found themselves folded together in a back booth of the Three Broomsticks, ignoring the rowdy party which surrounded them in favor of each other. The practice schedule leading up to the World Cup had left Minerva exhausted and beaten down. She had rarely seen Hermione in the past month, and now that it was all over all she wanted to do was wrap the small brunette in her arms and refuse to let go.

"I can't believe you did that," Hermione laughed, laying her legs over Minerva's lap as she leaned against the wall, "I know I just keep saying it, but really. What were you thinking, Min?"

"I was thinking that I'm tired of being _subtle_. I love you, and that was one of the best moments of my life, and all I wanted was to pull you up on that broom beside me. I was thinking of the _first_ time you took my hand."

"You're lucky I didn't reject you entirely—not giving me any warning at all," she giggled with a fond smile.

Minerva smirked, "You never say no to me."

Hermione's eyes sparkled as she failed to glare at the taller woman, "No, no I don't."

"You would think after nearly five years you would have mastered the talent," Minerva said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear and making the young woman blush.

"If I recall, I tried telling you no once. It ended with both of us tied up in Fred and George's sitting room as Harry lectured us about being noble idiots. If I recall, he even admitted that Snape was right about the stupidity of Gryffindors," Hermione laughed.

"I thought it was the apocalypse," Minerva smirked. "A Potter admitting that a Snape was _right_ about something. Heaven forbid!"

Hermione shook her head distastefully, "Oh the shame he brought upon our house that day."

Minerva laughed loudly, "In his defense, he hadn't slept the night before—you had him half convinced you were dying."

Hermione sniffed slightly, "He was just being dramatic, I was perfectly fine."

Minerva raised an eyebrow in her direction, "Oh were you now?"

"Shush," Hermione said, sticking her tongue out petulantly, "At least I didn't practically blow up a shop!"

Minerva let out a bark of laughter, "I fixed it all, in the end."

"You set fire to an entire display!"

"And then I extinguished it!"

Fred and George appeared at their table, "You do know that you're supposed to be celebrating right now?" Fred said, teasing the obviously exhausted woman.

"Being that you're a world champion Quidditch player and all," George reasoned.

"But I'm having more fun over _here_," Minerva whined, laying her head back against the booth.

"Wow, I see where I rank in your affections, can't even manage a dance with your best friend!" Fred argued.

"Ah, Gred— I'm pretty sure _I'm_ her best friend, but she likes you well enough too, don't worry."

"Not a chance, Forge. I'm definitely her favorite."

"No, no, dear brother. You are a mere consolation prize when I'm not available—or perhaps a lovely side-kick."

Minerva groaned loudly, "Alright, I'll dance with you!" She shouted, causing the twins to do a little jig of success. "I don't know how I ended up earning the affections of the likes of you. Honestly, there must be something wrong with me."

"You are simply the loveliest," Fred started.

"Most brilliant,"

"Most talented,"

"Most perfectly charming," George pretended to swoon, taking her hand in his as Fred grabbed the other.

"Witch we've ever met!" The chorused, "Marry us, M&M!"

"A dance—all I promised was a dance," she shouted as they dragged her toward the large space which had been cleared for dancing.

Hermione laughed warmly as she watched the twins twirl Minerva around the room. She looked exhausted, but also completely delighted by their enthusiastic antics.

Over the years the twins had become Minerva's best friends, much to the surprise of many of her former colleagues. With the distance of her profession no longer an issue she had been given the opportunity to really appreciate their brilliance and charm. They had stood by her without question ever since her accident and she had cherished their unwavering loyalty.

They had all tried to keep the potion and antidote a secret, but it was inevitable that the Ministry eventually discovered her decision, and just who held all of the secrets. They dragged her into a meeting in Hogwarts, telling her that it was _irresponsible _and _unnatural_ for her to start life again.

The argument which resulted had shook the walls of Hogwarts, and ended with them telling Minerva that she obviously had all the decision making skills of an eighteen year old girl, if she planned on throwing away her life for some teenage muggleborn. After accusing Minerva of pedophilic urges Hermione had proceeded to threaten to remove their hearts with her wand—which hadn't entirely helped the situation. When she eventually calmed Hermione down, she declared that the ministry had absolutely no say in her decision. That's when they had attempted to use their power to intimidate the twins.

Everyone _always_ seemed to be underestimating the twins.

Reports from that morning's visitors to Wizard Weasely Wheezes claimed to have seen three Ministry employees exit through the back doors, and hastily apparating away—but not before being photographed by several passersby. Photos showed the three Ministry employees each sporting large neon tinted beards, and at least one of them had a quickly swelling black eye.

From that moment, Minerva had come to love the twins as family. She spent almost as much time visiting them on her breaks as she did Hermione, though she always reserved at least a week for hiding away in her old home with Hermione, and that's exactly where they planned to go after finishing here tonight.

A flurry of excitement fluttered through Hermione's chest at the thought. They had an entire week until they were due to arrive at the school. A week of scrabble, dancing, visiting the horses, and _distracting _each other.

After several years of oddly spaced out breaks and busy schedules, she could barely comprehend the idea of falling asleep in Minerva's arms every night again. A happy sigh escaped her as she watched the passionate woman laugh in the arms of her friends.

No one would have expected five years ago that Minerva McGonagall could be happy living her life again, but she had fallen rather comfortably into it. She had finally rekindled the friendships from all her years at Hogwarts, her colleagues having realized their stupidity in isolating her for all of those months, and accepting that she really was the same old Minerva—only happier.

Nowadays she could easily dance the night away with Fred and George, or get into a bar fight with her entire team—but she could also sit for days in the same chair, reading by the fire and making small notes and noises of contentment. She could still debate ethics and theory, and she could still intimidate her students and colleagues in the same way she always had. She just did all of that while looking forty-some years younger.

At some point Hermione managed to fall in love with two women: Mary—the temperamental, emotional, and sarcastic eighteen year old, and Minerva—the brilliant, mature, formidable woman she had met at only eleven years old. It had taken time for her them to find a balance, but over the years they had eventually become one inside of the person whom she called _Min_.

Harry drew Hermione from her thoughts as he slid into the booth beside her, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. "Hermione and Min, sitting in a tree, S-H-A-G-G-IN-G," he whispered, causing her to slap him lightly.

"That isn't even the right number of letters!"

"Well you certainly weren't looking at her as if you were simply going to _kiss_ her," Harry argued, "And the word with the _correct _number of letters seemed a bit crude. I didn't think you would appreciate it."

Hermione glared, "You are correct, Mister Potter."

He grinned at her, "So, how're you doing?"

She smiled brightly, "I am _perfect_."

"You've got your witch back," he grinned, causing her to blush and nod. "And you have your masteries—all _three_ of them."

She blushed again.

"And you both have your jobs at Hogwarts," Harry added, "Though I don't know _how _you convinced Snape to retire."

Hermione snorted, "It wasn't hard; he hates teaching. He was just waiting for someone mildly competent to earn a mastery in potions."

"And he thinks you're _mildly competent_?" Harry asked.

She nodded with a small smile playing on her lips, "Quite the complement, coming from him."

"So you'll be living together, working together, _you-know-what'ing_ together," That earned him another slap. "So not to quote Rita Skeeter—but Marriage, Children?" Hermione rolled her eyes, and Harry shrugged at her lack of response, "I'm just curious. What are your _intentions_ Miss. Granger?"

She laughed audibly this time, "My intentions?" Harry nodded, and she paused for a moment, a calculating look on her face. After several silent moments she nodded slightly, "Happiness," she said simply.

"Happiness?" Harry laughed, and Hermione nodded sensibly.

"Yes. Lots of happiness. And books."

"Happiness and books?"

"Indeed," she said, a small smile playing around her lips as he shook his head.

"It's all that simple then; your intention is happily ever after?" Harry said, and she leaned her head gently against his shoulder.

"And books," she smiled.

"And books."

* * *

**~ The End~**

* * *

**I want to sincerely thank every one of you for going along on this journey with me**. Frankly, I had always thought this plot to be a bit cliched, but once it grabbed ahold of me I couldn't say no. I hope that you found I did it justice, and that I added a bit of something different.

**To those of you who were hoping for Minerva to return to her previous age,** I'm truly sorry for your disappointment. I honestly wasn't sure which she would choose for about three quarters of the story, but it really was up to the character. Once she decided to let herself live in that life, fully and completely, there was no going back. She would have felt like half a person again, and I don't think she could have made that work.

**A special thank you to those of you who have continually reviewed and tweeted. ** It has continually inspired me to update more quickly and insert various ideas you have posed. Originally there was no Malcolm, and the twins only appeared in the Christmas chapter-this was all thanks to you. Please consider reviewing one last time, I would love to know what you thought of my ending.

**Last but not least, a shameless plug.** If you liked this story, I have several other Minerva/Hermione fanfics, which I strongly suggest, and several other fics in general. After the War is my other longer piece, and I recently rewrote the whole first chapter. Check it out if you're interested!

**Coming soon: ** A Complete Re-Write of "Thank you, Ron" and some major re-writes to "Once Upon a Fall". I'm also working on a collection of Songfics which feature a different Hermione/? pairing with each chapter. (So far this includes Hermione/Minerva, Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Lupin, Hermione/Neville, Hermione/Harry, and Hermione/Fred... still working on it though) If you're interested in any/all of these, consider following here and/or on Twitter! ( LadyChristineM)

**Thanks again, it's been a lovely ride!**


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